


La liaison parisienne

by Traviosita9124



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hotel Sex, NSFW, back when ward wasn't a total jackass, early season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5628880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traviosita9124/pseuds/Traviosita9124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After ages of dancing around each other, both Fitz and Jemma are on the verge of giving up. In a bid to help their friends, Ward and Skye take them out separately in the hopes of taking their minds off the state of things. However, when they end up in the same Parisian bar - and a little liquid courage is thrown into the mix - their evening takes an entirely unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another old story I wrote with BraveJem during season one of AoS. I'm going through and breaking the original 48-page document into chapters and editing for clarity before posting here. Since it is set in season one, Daisy is still referred to as Skye. Set well before Ward's betrayal.

Jemma wasn’t necessarily drunk - she had some control over her reflexes and senses - but she was tipsy enough to feel like she had an excuse; a means of getting out of the trouble she’d undoubtedly cause tonight with a wave of her hand and a feigned hangover.

She did not, however, have any excuse for the tight, short black lace cocktail dress and stiletto heels she was wearing. That was a decision made by a sober mind— one that had said ‘fuck it’ when Skye had invited her out for a girls’ night. She’d actually forgotten she’d had the dress on the Bus with her, stumbling upon it in surprise when she’d been rummaging through her closet in her bunk. It’d been a gift from her sister, one that had been accompanied by a mischievous little grin, a sing-songed, “You never know when you might need it,” and a side glance toward her best friend who’d been lounging on the sofas with the rest of the men who were waiting for their women. She’d blushed furiously at the time and swatted her sister's arm, insisting that it wasn’t like that between herself and Fitz, even as she wished it was. 

But lately… No, her alcohol soaked mind told her, it still  _ wasn’t _ like that. It was something, but it wasn’t  _ that _ . Whatever they were didn’t merit skyscraper heels and short thigh-baring dresses. In fact, she didn’t even want to think about Fitz right now. As much as she loved him and she was certain on some level that he loved her, he’d never made an advance, leaving her to pine away in the lab, wondering if something was wrong with  _ her _ . 

It was entirely absurd, she thought as she finished her glass of whatever this too sugary, too pink drink was. There was nothing wrong with her, nothing at all. If anything, the  _ only _ thing wrong with her was the fact that she waited around for him to do something he clearly  _ didn’t _ want to do. She’d even refused offers from others. She hadn’t been the only girl at Sci-Ops but she  _ was  _ the smartest and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by the male population (being a nubile young prodigy with above-average fashion sense hadn’t hurt her prospects, either) and had landed her plenty of offers to walk her to class, offers for Friday night dates, and even one or two inappropriate hook up propositions. She’d turned them all down. 

Every single one, simply because her gentlemen callers had lacked blue eyes and a Scottish brogue.

And now she was here, in a posh bar that verged on a club with its loud music and dark-hued walls lined with expensive bottles of alcohol, wearing a dress she’d never thought she’d wear and feeling enticing. It had been such a long while since Jemma had done something like this and the wandering eyes and appreciative looks she was receiving left her feeling sexy and beautiful. In short, she finally felt  _ desired _ . It felt good. Of course, neither she nor Skye had any intention of absconding with any man but the idea that she could if she wanted to made her feel a bit bold, blood flowing through her veins at a quickened pace and flushing her skin with a damp sheen in all the places she hadn’t brushed with the silky, shimmering powder Skye had insisted on her trying.

"Don’t look now, but tall dark and handsome over there is pretty much eye fucking you." 

Skye sipped her drink daintily and gave Jemma a quirk of her right eyebrow. Jemma’s rosy lips tugged upward in an almost cat-like grin.

“ _ Skye _ .” She admonished, but only halfheartedly. Skye winked at her slyly and grinned.

"What? When was the last time you had a conversation with a man that wasn’t Fitz, or Ward, or Coulson. I mean, if I can’t remember the last time I had one, then God it must be a long time for you." 

If Jemma had only a little less alcohol in her system, she might have been offended. But in her current state she could only acknowledge the truth in her friend’s statement: she couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to a man other than the three she worked and cohabited with. She turned on her stool, twisting a little at the waist and glanced around the room, gaze flitting from face to face until it landed on the man in question. 

He was attractive in a rather typical way: square jaw, wide shoulders, thick arms, dark hair… He reminded her of Ward. Her nose scrunched a little reflexively as she turned away and Skye looked at her like she’d lost her mind. It wasn’t that she didn’t find Ward attractive— she’d have to be both blind and stupid to think him unattractive— but her tastes had begun shifting lately to something more along the lines of lighter hair, maybe with a few curls, and a fairer complexion. Not to mention of a height with her so she didn’t strain her neck too badly while kissing her paramour.

She took a sip of her newly arrived drink, thinking about the differences in her and Skye’s taste in men. It was a wonder they got on as well as they did, given their blatantly different approaches when it came to men. Jemma might look like a sex kitten right now, but she was a horrid flirt and her actual experience was limited; whereas Skye was both a skilled flirt— confident and well versed— and had been in a serious relationship in the past.

Skye made a horrified little sound from her throat that made Jemma start and spill a bit of her drink on the bar.

"Oh shit. No. No fucking way," Skye hissed, eyes glued to the entryway. Jemma’s head snapped quickly to see what Skye was talking about, eyes going wide when she saw a familiar mop of sandy curls in the doorway. 

This was not his kind of bar.

 

Leo Fitz preferred local pubs: dim lighting, dinged tables and chairs, darts, and plenty of ale on tap. Places where one could waltz in with a day’s worth of stubble and still pass muster. But Grant Ward was a different kind of man, 007 to the core, and, when the idea of a boys’ night had come up, he insisted on going to the poshest place he could find. 

 

That’s how they had ended up in this bar, everything dark wood and dim lighting and pulsing bass, and women in miniskirts and stiletto heels who were obviously on the prowl. If Fitz were honest, he enjoyed the view - any man who enjoyed women would - but he felt  _ off  _ somehow. He tugged at his waistcoat, the one Ward had insisted he wear, trying to settle into his own skin. Ward had tried to get him to put on a full suit, but considering the last suit he had worn had been rather ill-fitting, Fitz had opted for his nicest dark-wash jeans with a white button down, red tie, and gray waistcoat.

 

He had chosen wisely, given the smiles he had earned from more than a few women on his way in.

 

He was pleased to find that there was a wide selection of scotch to go along with the high-priced cocktails being served, and didn’t hesitate to order from the top shelf. After all, Ward had promised to buy the first round. Before long, both he and Ward found themselves chatting with two women who had managed to worm their way in between them at the bar.

 

The woman next to him was cute enough, a blonde with bright green eyes and a bubbly personality, but despite his best efforts, Fitz just couldn’t convince himself that he actually wanted to talk to, much less go home with, her. And a trip to her place was exactly what she was angling for, given the way she giggled up at him and made sure her breasts brushed his arm every chance she got.

 

Five months ago, Fitz would have been panting, ready to follow her out the door at the slightest suggestion; however, that was before he’d pulled his head out of his arse where his lab partner was concerned.

 

As of late, Jemma Simmons was the only woman capable of holding his attention for more than five minutes. It was trite and cliché and twee, but nearly losing her had made him reevaluate the way he felt. He simply could not live in a world without her. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant in terms of where they were as far as a relationship was concerned, but he did know sleeping with this woman (Amy? Jamie? He honestly couldn’t remember, which shamed him a bit) was not on his agenda.

 

He finished his scotch, ordering another round for the four of them, before turning his attention back to the conversation when Ward caught his eye and gave the slightest nod over his shoulder. He turned, looking to see what had caught his colleague’s attention and had him looking as though he’d seen a ghost.

 

Fitz’ heart stopped and his mouth went sandpaper-dry.

 

Jemma Simmons sat across the bar, squeezed into a short, black lace number that left little to the imagination and shoes that were the essence of pornographic fantasy.  She raised her drink to her lips, something pink and served in a martini glass, and leaned into Skye, giggling all the while. She was stunning.

Without warning, her smile dropped off her face as Skye whispered something in her ear, and before he could react, her eyes zeroed in on his, amber locking onto blue, freezing him where he stood. He watched as her surprise flashed over her face before he managed to smile and raise his glass toward her in a small salute.

_ Bloody fucking hell. _

Jemma’s brain threw thoughts at her in rapid pace, the first being this was  _ not _ his sort of place, she knew because he’d taken her to enough pubs over the years to know he preferred local places with pool tables and wood covering every corner. He liked the places where he could show up and not be noticed. 

The second thought came from the buzzed space of her brain, the part that was feeling coy and sexy was that he looked good _._ He looked better than good and it made a deep flush spread across her skin, tension coiling in her core. 

The third thought that snaked through her was the fact that he had a beautiful woman hanging onto his arm, flirting with him. That was especially not like him— he was confident in the lab, confident in his specialty and his brain, and he was confident with her because they were a package deal - but he’d always had a bit of an awkwardness about him that she found endearing, really. So to see him chatting up a beautiful blonde with gorgeous eyes and long legs as if he’d done it before and it was strange, to say the least. Strange enough that it made her gut tighten uncomfortably as she watched the continued exchange.

The thing was: Jemma had always been comfortable in her own skin, not prone to bouts of self-consciousness or all that worried about how she compared to other women but she felt the sudden needling of self-awareness at the idea of him seeking out the woman next to him, the idea that she was his type.

He raised his glass, saluting her with a small smile and her knees trembled, the tension in her core pulling tight again and she turned away without returning his smile or his raised glass, confused. She eyed Skye suspiciously, feeling like she might have been duped into coming to this particular bar.

"Did you plan this?"

To her credit, Skye’s eyes widened in a blatant look of innocence and she shook her head.

"God, no. I was trying to get away from Ward, not see him all dressed up and sweet talking women. It’s not like he’s unattached anyways, I don’t know why he’s here."

That caught Jemma’s attention.

"What do you mean he’s not unattached?"

"I thought you knew. He and May are fuck buddies."

Jemma pulled in a sharp gasp of air. Ward and May? Skye sighed, shoulders rolling back a little in a stance of both defeat and defiance.

"Yeah. I wish I didn’t know, to be honest. Here’s to girls’ night." She said as she hefted her glass in the air and finished off the last of her drink. Jemma commiserated with a little lift and drink of her own, only to hear a throat clearing behind her.

She expected to find Fitz, finally making his way over to say hello or ask her what the hell she was doing here, or even to tell her he was taking off with the blonde and not to expect in the lab the next day.

It wasn’t Fitz. It was tall dark and handsome, looking at her with a smile.

"I was going to ask if I could buy you a drink. It seems I have good timing."

Jemma’s eyes cut to Fitz for a second, spying him watching her with rapt attention now, and she made a conscious decision. The sort of decision she would have to blame on the alcohol on the morrow. She smiled coyly at the dark haired man, set her glass on the bar, and leaned in. She was a horrible flirt, but having alcohol in her system might help a bit. And at least with Fitz out of earshot, she could pretend.

"Actually, it’s perfect timing. I’d love another."

She tilted her head to the right, remembering seeing Skye pull that same move earlier and hoping she could pull it off. It worked, and she found herself with another drink within the span of two minutes.

_ Who th’ fuck is tha’ _ ?

Fitz was vaguely aware that he’d become poor company, ignoring the girl next to him, but the scotch was making sure he didn’t give a damn about such nonsense at the moment. He’d smiled at Jemma, hoping she’d come over or at least meet him halfway, but instead she’d turned her attention to some tall, muscled git. The flush in his cheeks, previously the result of a heady combination of good scotch and a tantalizing view of Jemma, quickly gave way to the ugly, roiling feeling of jealousy swirling his gut. Fitz quickly swilled the last of his drink and slammed the tumbler onto the counter with quite a bit more force than he’d intended before turning back to the blonde.

If she wanted to talk to other men, he was perfectly content to show her that he could talk to other women, too.

He gave the woman his best smile and pretended to be interested in hearing about her latest purchases for her condo and the most recent episode of some vapid American reality show. Thankfully, she and her friend eventually excused themselves to “freshen up,” giving him a few minutes alone with Ward.

“Did you kno’ tha’ they’d be here?” The question was terse, more accusation than inquiry as Fitz rushed to get answers before their company returned..

“Fitz, I swear, I had no clue.”

The specialist’s eyes betrayed no sign of deceit, and even though Fitz knew that Ward had an excellent poker face, he let it go. Instead, he turned back to the bar and signaled for another drink despite feeling Ward’s concerned gaze on him. He downed half the drink in one gulp, praying that the floor would swallow him whole.

“You know,” he began, beginning to feel lightheaded from drinking too quickly, “I think I’ll take a taxi back t’ th’ Bus. I dinnae feel much like bein’ out at th’ momen’.”

Ward sighed in response. “All right. Let me get the tab and we can get out of here.”

Fitz looked at him in surprise. “Why would you leave? Stay, talk t’ th’ girls. It’s no’ like both o’ us should lose ou’ tonigh’.”

“Fitz,” Ward patiently explained, “I only came out to wingman you.”

“You wha’?” The alcohol really must have been making him slow, because Fitz could have sworn that he just heard Ward say he only came out to help him pick up women.

“I thought you’d want a night out, you know, to distract yourself from Simmons…” Ward trailed off, his ears tinging pink with the embarrassment of having said too much. The gnawing feeling in Fitz’ gut increased, fueled not only by jealousy now but also embarrassment. Ward came out because he thought he needed help flirting with women, and the only woman he cared to flirt with was too busy chatting up some moron across the bar. His blood began to boil.

Fitz glanced over to where Jemma was; she was working on a fresh drink and smiling up at the git, wide and bright, as though she were having the grandest time. It pained Fitz that she’d never smiled for him that way, the man who’d gone to school and trained and worked beside her for years. He looked the git over: he was tall and muscular - essentially a Greek god - nothing he could ever hope to compete against. But, Fitz was tired of that, tired of staying quiet and getting out of the way for every man who came calling on Jemma. He made a decision to act, then and there.

“Do wha’ you like,” he told Ward, signaling the bartender for two of whatever Jemma and Skye were drinking, “bu’ I’m goin’ over there.”


	2. Chapter 2

He waited for the man to step away and quickly made the most of the opportunity, not waiting to see if Ward would follow him. Fitz circled around, getting behind Jemma so she couldn’t see him approach. He sidled up behind where the girls were seated at the bar and set their fresh drinks on the counter before them, careful to allow his fingers to skim across Jemma’s shoulders and delighting in the faint heat radiating off the expanse of skin her dress exposed. He leaned forward, intent on being as near to her as possible, only to catch a whiff of the perfume Jemma had dabbed behind her ear. Fitz briefly faltered, nearly overcome by the delicate scent of jasmine and honeysuckle as he hovered over Jemma’s shoulder.

Somehow, though, he was able to regain his composure, and with his voice calm managed to lean in and whisper in her ear, “Hi, Jem.”

She was a little more drunk than before, could feel the effect of her last drink wash over her and she wasn’t at all expecting to hear the familiar brogue in the form of a whisper next to her to ear, or the deep reverberations she felt down to her toes.

She shivered, her muscles tensed in her abdomen, and her lips parted in a tiny gasp.

Before she could think better of it or try to rationalize any actions under the application of alcohol, she turned her head slightly toward Fitz without looking at him. She didn’t lean in at all, just barely turned toward his voice in an almost - who was she kidding, she knew damn well what she was doing - teasing manner.

“Hello, Fitz,” she murmured with a tone that just betrayed her enough to signal the level of her intoxication: it was a little low, a little rough around the edges of her accent.

Under normal circumstances, ones that didn’t include alcohol and loud music and low lighting, she’d be more than a little embarrassed at her attire and the skin that was on display. She was usually respectfully clothed, appropriate on every level for both the lab and field.

That certainly wasn’t the case now; with no jumper to obscure the lines of her body, all of her curves were clearly defined and blatantly on display. Funny, she didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed, only emboldened. She sipped her drink and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, heat slowly spreading like smoke under her skin at the sight of him.

_ Damn it, Jemma. _

"Are you and Ward having a good time? Where did that pretty blonde go?" Jemma wanted to play off his presence, make it seem as if it hadn’t nearly knocked the breath out of her but she had a horrid poker face and had a sneaking suspicion he  _ knew _ she hadn’t been this flush and warm before he’d walked over here.

Before Fitz could respond, tall dark and handsome - who she now knew was named Pierre - appeared at her other side with a smile.

"My apologies, Jemma. Business call. Where were we?"

"Oh no need to apologize,  _ really _ . I understand.” She flashed him a smile, twisting her body around so she was almost precariously dangling off the stool, legs and heels brushing against his thighs as she turned.

It did nothing. No heat through her belly, no smoke under her skin, no rush of chemicals in her system, no tight coil of heat in her core. He simply didn’t turn her on the way Fitz did, not even with his fine suit and soft French accent. The evidence before her left one little word echoing through her brain:  _ fuck _ .

Fitz couldn’t help the way his jaw clenched when she turned and he got an up close and personal look at Jemma in the dress, or specifically, down the front of her dress.

That was how he knew he was past buzzed and well on his way to drunk; he’d never have been so bold as to stare down the front of his best friend’s dress otherwise. Granted, Jemma had never worn something that exposed quite so much of herself in front of him before, either. There had been staid cocktail dresses at parties, and tank tops in the field, but this barely-there construction of black lace was so much more than that. It was something he had thought he’d only see in his fantasies, the ones he guiltily indulged in once in blue moon, satisfying his baser urges before sloughing off his guilt in a scalding shower.

Looking at her, he was overcome by an overwhelming desire to lap at her collarbone before working his way between her breasts, simply to discover how she might taste, and if she’d be as soft against his tongue as she looked.

His groin stirred and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but not enough to stop himself from taking all of her in. He cursed the amount of scotch he’d had before his eyes venture to where her legs were tangled with the git’s, soft and smooth and barely covered enough to be considered decent. Honestly, if Jemma shifted any further forward on the stool, she’d run the risk of exposing herself. The entire package was capped by stilettos that Fitz hadn’t even known she had.

An image flashed through his mind: those legs locked around his waist and those heels digging into his backside as Jemma moaned beneath him. Fitz knew then that he was treading on incredibly dangerous ground. He shouldn’t have had that third scotch; it was giving him a confidence he didn’t deserve, but it was a runaway train he was unwilling to stop.

He turned his attention to the other man, suppressing an urge to roll his eyes at the mention of a late “business call.”  _ Not bloody likely at 11 pm _ , Fitz thought to himself, even as he noticed that the man was tall and muscular, and with a soft French accent to boot, exactly the type of man  Jemma had always admired.

Fitz felt his arousal wane as his confidence took a hit. He was beginning to think that perhaps he should go back to the Bus and lick his wounds since here he was clearly outmatched, when he finally noticed something.

Jemma’s breathing had returned to normal. The high flush that had been in her cheeks had receded, too.

When he had first stepped up, she had given a short little gasp, her breathing had seemed elevated, and a pretty pink flush had spread across her cheeks, neck, and chest. Now, with her attention on the git, she seemed calmer, as if it were just another, everyday conversation. Fitz felt a bit of his daring return in that moment, and even though a tiny part of his brain was shouting at him that he was only feeling this bold because of the liquor, it didn’t stop him.

He channeled his best impersonation of Grant Ward as he stepped into her, heedless of the fact that Jemma would likely be able to tell how she’s affected him, and planted his hand on the bar next to her. He allowed his arm to rest along her back as he fixed the taller man with a firm gaze, and forced his voice to stay calm.

“Jemma forgo’ t’ introduce us. I’m Fitz, Jemma’s partner.”

Her eyes went wide when Fitz stepped into her, pressing flush against her side. She was a biologist and a woman, she knew damn well that Fitz  _ knew _ she could feel him. The feel of his arousal against her and the slide of his hand across her practically-bare back sent a full-on tremor down her spine. Unable to disguise her reaction to the press of him against her, Jemma simply settled for pressing more firmly into his hold.

She wasn’t just flushed anymore, she was  _ hot:  _ skin dampening at an exponential rate, droplets of sticky perfumed perspiration accumulating on her neck and chest. But it was the sudden twist in her core, the feeling of a sudden swell between her thighs and the rush of slickness that made her almost choke on her tongue.

She was in  _ public _ , in a bar trying to flirt with  _ another man,  _ while Fitz had barely said anything to her, barely touched her except pressing up against her and she was  _ ready _ . The feel of the burning need as it settled into her muscles was undeniable. He’d always had a funny effect on her: making her blush or feeling awkward under his stare or too forward when she held his stare with intent for too long.

But he’d never made her feel this way, hot and turned on and sweaty. If he asked her to leave right now— to walk out of this bar and forget she’d come with Skye and he’d arrived with Ward, she wouldn’t hesitate.

_ What the fuck _ was in those pink drinks Skye had insisted on drinking?

She realized that she’d missed something, some social cue, because Pierre was staring between her and Fitz with a confused look on his face while Fitz looked suspiciously smug. With Fitz pressed up against her, she’d forgotten entirely about Pierre.

She swallowed once, trying to calm herself but failing. Jemma simply couldn’t. Not with Fitz in her space, his body reminding her that he was clearly feeling the same way as she. It was almost too much. 

"I’m sorry?" She managed to get out, voice unintentionally low and raspy. Pierre gave her a look that she couldn’t quite read, eyes sliding to Fitz before his smile turned both exasperated and apologetic at once, the look of a man who had just realized he’d been cockblocked.

"I didn’t realize your  _ partner _ was here. Look, it was really nice talking with you but it’s getting late and I have to work in the morning. Have a good night, Jemma.” Just like that, Pierre was gone before she could blink, stalking off to rejoin his friends.

She didn’t even care, to be honest, not even registering the fact that she should be slightly mortified at the blatantly pathetic excuse he’d used. She reached blindly for her drink, downing the last of it quickly.

Everything around her was being blurred out by Fitz, and nothing thrilled her more.

He knew it was foolish, but that didn’t stop his ego from swelling up as he watched Jemma flounder while Mr. “Business Call at 11 pm” made his excuses and departed. He enjoyed knowing that he was affecting her, enjoyed seeing her lips part as her breathing became shallow and the flush that had graced her previously returned full force.

He found himself enthralled, trapped in the power of something he’d previously thought he’d never see: Jemma Simmons, in lust, and focused solely on him.

He turned to Skye only to find that she had abandoned her stool at some point during their exchange with tall, dark, and business-y. He glanced around the bar, searching for her signature curly hair. Eventually he spotted her near the door and, surprisingly, with Ward in tow. He caught Ward’s eye, and the two exchanged an understanding nod while Skye shot the scientists a thumbs up.

_ Hell _ , he thought,  _ they did know all along wha’ they were doin’ bringin’ us here _ .

He should be annoyed, but the buzz of good booze in his veins, along with a glance at Jemma, who was staring up at him, eyes wide with wanting, headed off any anger he might have felt. Truthfully, he should be thanking both of them, and very well may thank them by the time the night’s over.

He placed a hand on the outside of her right knee, prompting her to turn fully towards him on her stool. She gave him a lazy smile as he palmed her cheek with his free hand, and his heart nearly stopped.

He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek before speaking directly into her ear. “I think we’ve been se’ up,” he murmured, matter-of-fact despite his wide grin. He leaned over to kiss her other cheek, catching her near the corner of her mouth, close enough to be tempting and far enough to make her squirm just a bit. It certainly wasn’t where she wanted him to kiss her; he knew that to be fact, given her frustrated whimper.

“Jemma, you know tha’ I wan’ you.”

Fitz decided to stick with the simple truth, stating what she must have realized given the way his cock was insistently twitching against her thigh. He saw a momentary rush of fear pass across her features, and he hurried through the next part to keep everything from blowing up on him.

“I jus’ dinnae wan’ our firs’ time t’ be in some bathroom in a bar.” Fitz gave it a moment, allowing the words to sink in, including their implication, before pressing onward. It was do-or-die time.

“So, Jemma, where woul’ you like t’ go? Jus’ tell me, an’ I’ll settle th’ tab an’ take you there.”

She was reeling, the alcohol in her body making her feel all the more loose and languid, pliant under his hands as he stroked her cheek and waited for her to say something. For once in her life, Jemma found herself at a loss for words. Her brain had apparently short circuited, completely distracted by his obvious arousal, the way his lips feel against the corner of her mouth, and the tender, affectionate way he was touching her face even though his words were heated and entirely lust-inducing.

Fitz was right, though; she didn’t want their first time to be anything other than what it  _ should _ be - the culmination of years of friendship, partnership, and dancing on the edge of what was happening  _ right now _ . It brought her back a little bit, pulled her from the edge of outright lust and back to the safety of merely turned on.

She’d always been a happy drunk, and Jemma took a moment to contemplate his question, placing a hand on his chest while the other rested on her knee, precariously close where he was pressed up against her, fingers within reach if she just stretched them a little…

_ Focus, Jemma. _

"I want you too. God, I’ve wanted you for  _ years _ .” She had no idea how it managed to slip past her lips aside from the alcohol. She’d really been trying to think of what she wanted, where she wanted him to take her and it had just slipped out. The truth was it didn’t matter if it was silk sheets and five star room service or their bunk back on the Bus and tea in the morning; she wanted  _ Fitz _ , wanted to feel him and lose a little of herself in him.

_ God _ , she was drunk.

"I don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Just take me somewhere—  _ anywhere— _ but here.  _ Please _ .” The music was too loud, the lights too off color, and the crowd too pressed in for her to focus on what she really wanted: Leo Fitz, in all his glory. 


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz’ heart leapt at her admission, and though he was positive she could feel it beat harder against her palm, he couldn’t help the idiotic smirk that broke across his face. _Years_ , he thought to himself. _She’s wanted me for years_. He knew her admission was likely fueled by the neon-pink concoction she had been drinking, but he didn’t doubt its veracity in the slightest. Even drunk, Jemma was a terrible liar, and the warmth of knowing that his feelings were returned ballooned in his chest and centered him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his money clip, the one she’d gotten him for their graduation years ago, and slid out the first credit card he saw. He stepped closer, effectively wedging himself between her knees, and flashed it at the bartender, who took it and quickly disappeared to tally the tab. Fitz tried to be patient and resist the urge to slide his fingers further up her thigh to skim over the bit of soft, pale skin that’s still hidden, but that went to hell when Jemma decided to take a liking to the left side of his neck. Instinct took over, his fingers clenching as he turned his chin to speak into her ear.

“Stop, Jemma, unless you’ve decided you dinnae wan’ t’ get out o’ here,” he grit out between his teeth, the fingers of his left hand digging into the flesh of her left thigh. He felt he nod against her cheek and reached to sign the check he was handed without looking at the total. He snatched his card from the countertop and pulled back slightly so he could better see her eyes. They were steady, meeting his own easily, and they burned right through him. He felt totally exposed, laid bare before her gaze, and it hit him that as soon as they walked out of the bar, there was no turning back. Whether they burned brightly or imploded entirely, their relationship would never be the same.

They were teetering on a razor’s edge, slipping down one side, and he pushed them the rest of the way off it as he leaned in to press his mouth firmly to hers. Her mouth was pliant under his, meeting and matching his pressure easily. She drew a low groan from his throat when she reached for him, her fingers boldly brushing against him through his jeans. Fitz gasped and broke the kiss, fighting a fresh urge to drag her into the darkest corner of the bar and ravage her.

It’d be easy enough with that barely-there dress.

Instead, Fitz fought that particular need off, pushing it into the back of his brain. As long as he didn’t cock it up, there would be time enough for that later. He caught her around the waist, and after tucking his credit card back into his pocket, tugged her off the stool to stand before him.

“C’mon, Jemma, le’s go catch a cab.”

She wasn’t sure how she managed to acquire the audacity to press her lips to his neck aside from the fact that she was drunk, but once Jemma did she didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to remove herself from his skin anytime soon. He tasted salty and he smelled achingly familiar, all the scents she’d come to associate with him mingling with sweat and the cologne he wore. It gave her a little rush of pleasure and her tongue managed to sneak past her lips again, less inconspicuous this time as she brushed her teeth against the vein in his neck that was rapidly pulsing.

Only the way Fitz pushed his words out through his teeth, as if he were being tortured, that gave her pause, making her pull back a little to meet his eyes.

She could go up in flames at the sight of them. An entirely new feeling spread through her, beginning in her core and pushing through her limbs into her face.

_This was it. This was everything._

This was the last first time she would ever leave with anyone from a bar, intoxicated and willing and all too accommodating because Fitz was the end all for her; there would never be another moment like this because this was their beginning. She wanted this more than anything she’d wanted before, wanted Fitz to know that though she was drunk and wearing a risqué dress she’d _never_ normally wear, Jemma was conscious of what they were doing and what it meant. He must have understood, must have grasped what she was saying with her eyes because instead of the teasing kiss Fitz had given her earlier, he pushed his mouth against Jemma’s hard and strong.

It made her shiver again, body responding to his and she couldn’t help it when her fingers flexed to brush against him.

When he pulled back with a little gasp, it gave Jemma a moment of triumph, as if she’d just one-upped him a little by taking control and her confidence jumped a few degrees. Fitz was just as ready as she was and it made a small, coy smile spread on her face: _she’d done that to him._

She allowed him to pull at her, lead her out of the bar and into the cool Parisian air with a haste that could only come from a man that knew what was coming next. Jemma sidled up to him and pressed herself against his side, mouth to his neck again, pride swelling when he shivered under the light graze of her teeth before speaking into his warm skin.

"So, where are we going?"

Fitz couldn’t think of anything with Jemma nibbling at his neck, much less decide where he would take her.

With each scrape of her teeth over his throat a thrill of arousal shot down his spine, priming Fitz for what his body knew would come next. He didn’t think he’d been this ready to bed a woman since he was in uni, but unlike then this time held the promise of being so much better. This time promised Jemma, something he’d never dared to even dream of really, and the thought caused his entire body to actually tingle.

He snaked his left arm around her, planting his hand on her arse and pulling her up for another kiss. He couldn’t resist giving her a light squeeze before he broke away and led them down the block to the nearest taxi stand.

They wound up at cab of an older gentleman who managed to look Jemma in the eye instead of lingering at the plunging neckline and barely-there hem of her dress. Fitz decided he liked him for that alone and hurriedly opened the door for Jemma before sliding in behind her. He didn’t let her go far, however, sliding his arm around her shoulders before turning his attention to the driver.

Fitz was painfully aware that his accent was atrocious, but he managed to remember just enough of the French he learned in his three years of secondary school to ask the cabbie to take them to a hotel. The man met his eyes in the rearview mirror, gave him a knowing smile, and promised Fitz that he knew just the place to take a pretty woman, so long as money wasn’t an issue. Fitz couldn’t help but bite his lip, holding back a grin, as he nodded to the cabbie and leaned back into his seat.

Once that was taken care of, he was free to turn his attention back to Jemma.

He felt his heart stop when he met her eyes. She was no less eager than she’d been outside the bar, and he managed to coax her onto his lap with little effort. It left Jemma seated sideways, her back against the door and her legs stretched out before her, and his left hand found its way back to her upper thigh even as his right arm tightened about her waist. She squirmed in his lap in the most enticing way, so much so that Fitz didn’t both to resist the urge to lift his own hips up into her.

Fitz also realized that with Jemma in his lap, he had a distinct advantage: he could reach her neck, while his was out of play. Giving her a devilish grin, he kissed his way from the corner of her mouth to her ear, gently tugging at the lobe with his teeth before working his way over her jaw and down her neck. He discovered that her neck was nearly as sensitive as his, and stroked his tongue across her pulse before sucking gently. Part of his brain, the part not entirely overwhelmed by the feel of Jemma’s mouth and hands and hips, warned him against leaving love bites, that they would only serve to tell the team exactly what they were doing on this little jaunt.

Then Fitz remembered that Skye and Ward had already seen them and increased the pressure of his mouth anyway. Jemma’s moans egged him on; he’d do anything to keep those sounds falling from her lips, even if it meant enduring Skye’s teasing and the awkward questions Coulson might ask.

Everything faded away after that, leaving Fitz entirely unaware of the world around him, his focus being for Jemma alone. And so he missed the Champs-Elysées and a brief glimpse of the Eiffel Tower as his hand slipped further up her thigh, teasing the skin just below the hem of her dress as he brought his mouth back to hers in a searing kiss.

He would have been willing to continue kissing her, had it not been for the fact that the car had stopped moving and the cabbie gave a firm, but not unkind, cough to pull them back to reality. With a blush gracing both their faces, Fitz opened the door and helped Jemma out of the cab before peeling off three €20 notes, handing them to the cabbie, and climbing out himself.

He slid his hand into hers and looked up at the awning of the hotel before them.

“Mandarin Oriental,” he read as he grinned at her. “Shall we see if they’ll give us a room for th’ nigh’?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before leading her into the lobby.  

Jemma wasn’t sure of _anything_ anymore, just that his hands on her and his mouth on her neck were doing the most wonderful things to her brain and causing little sounds to escape her throat that she had no control over. Whether from the alcohol in her system or just the innate biological propensities her body had, she couldn’t stop the movement of her hips against him, creating the most frustrating friction between.

It was as torturous as it was pleasurable.

She couldn’t get the angle right, trying to adjust so she can feel him between her thighs, but there just simply was not enough room in the bloody cab and it pulled a frustrated sound from her. Jemma didn’t even recognize that the cab had stopped until the sound of a throat clearing pulled her back from Fitz’s mouth with a soft little _pop_.

She tugged down her dress to try to keep herself at least somewhat covered as Fitz guided her out of the cab, partly because the hotel they’d stopped in front of was gorgeous—very posh— but also because her panties were completely useless, wet and clinging to her in an uncomfortable manner. She’d be tempted to just tug them off quickly and shove them in her purse, knowing she wouldn’t need them soon, but there was no way to do so without making it obvious. Instead she allowed Fitz to pull her from the cab and catch her when she stumbled forward a little bit, heels catching on a little crack in the pavement and the drunkenness making her just a touch clumsy.  

She followed him into the hotel, his hand wrapped around hers in a possessive hold that caused her to blush as a warm affection spread through her.

She paused when they entered the hotel.

She’d been right: it was _very_ posh, almost _too_ posh. It was beautiful and it made Jemma feel a little small and a _lot_ drunk.

Fitz liked the feel of her hand in his, warm and soft, her fingers folded between his own as she leaned into his shoulder.

He'd never been a large man a la Ward, but having her sidled up against him makes him feel like a giant. He couldn’t wipe the grin from his face as he approached the clerk, who gave them a disdainful once-over. He was less than pleased to have a slightly disheveled British couple appear before him, but he was courteous enough once he got his hands on Fitz' credit card. Jemma, for her part, seemed determined to burrow herself into his shoulder, so he obliged her and slipped his arm around her waist, releasing her hand so he could curl his own around her hip. She seemed nervous, so he nuzzled her ear and squeezed her hip, his message clear to anyone in the brightly lit lobby: _mine_.

“You dinnae even know how beautiful you are,” he whispered in her ear, nipping at the lobe. “And I cannae believe you agreed t’ leave with me.”

He never meant to let the last part slip out, and he blamed it on the scotch still left in his system. However, that didn’t negate the truth. As much as he’d hoped and dreamed, as much as he had pined for her, Fitz never actually believed Jemma would show an interest in him. She was brilliant and beautiful and bubbly and all kinds of good things that never actually came his way. He had felt so blessed to just be her friend that he’d been content to maintain the status quo, but kissing her, and seeing her in that dress, was much better than that. Before she could react to his statement, he turned her chin towards him and kissed her once more, quickly, before snatching the key card from the clerk and tugging her towards the lifts.

They slipped inside, away from prying eyes at last, and Fitz swiftly pressed the button for the 7th floor before pulling Jemma flush against him to kiss her yet again. He ground against her, slowly, intent on teasing her and enjoying the friction in the process. He also couldn’t get over the fact that he lived in a world where he gets to touch and tease and kiss Jemma Simmons.

A world where, shortly, he’d get to have her naked and wanting in bed next to him, and she'd expect him to do something about it.

The thought made him bold, and he reached down, beneath the hem of that sinfully short dress, to stroke the soft skin of her inner thigh as his lips worked over her neck, inching his fingers up toward where he could feel the heat radiating off of her. He was nearly there, muscles drawn taut in anticipation, when the door opened, revealing their floor. He was forced to break away from her with a groan and he withdrew his hand, immediately missing her warmth, to rest it at her waist as he gently urged her out the door.

He took up her hand again outside the lift, leading her to room 787 and swinging Jemma through the door as quickly as he could.

Jemma had never really thought about what Fitz kissing her, having his hands on her in a lustful way, would actually do to her. She’d wondered what he might taste like or how the calluses on his fingertips might feel pressed up against sensitive skin, but it had been nothing like this, where it made her lose all sense of herself, slipping into wordless moans and noises when words failed her.

She’d been drunk before, they’ve been drunk together before, but she’d never been desperate or physical. Now just the press of his hips against hers, the grip of his palm on her thigh, and the way his tongue was dominating hers was enough to make Jemma gasp into his mouth.

How had she not known he was like this?

The lift doors slid open and she’d almost be content to stay, to let his hand find the destination it was seeking because _God, he was so close_ but Fitz pulled away, tugging her after him. She had no idea what room they were in, hadn’t even glanced at the clerk when they’d been handed their key. She’d been too distracted by the extravagance of the hotel and then by the incredibly sweet words he’d whispered in her ear, making her blush. He kept doing that to her: his hands and mouth all heat, but sentiments and words soft and achingly sweet.

It made her head swim, remembering that this wasn’t just anyone or some random, drunken night even though they were both clearly drunk. This was Fitz. _It was Leo_. He was her best friend, the man she’d known for almost eight years, worked next to, designed with, had cried on, laughed with, grown with… This was _Fitz_.

He guided her down the hall, his eyes scanning the placards for the right room before finding it and opening the door with a finesse she didn’t know he had, swinging her around in a little twirl. She found herself tucked up against the inside of the door as it closed, his weight pressing into her as Fitz’ mouth claimed hers again and his hands slipped back under her dress in an almost frantic grab.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long delay. But now the bulk of my grad work is done and the wedding is over, so I should be able to get back to posting somewhat regularly! Thanks for hanging in with me.

_ Fuck _ .

She’d never get over the feel of his mouth against hers: the slide of his tongue, gentle and strong, at odds with itself as it ravaged her mouth and she tried to keep up. His hands were nowhere near where they’d been and that wasn’t okay, so she slid a thigh up his, wrapping one leg around him in the hope that it would make his hand move to the dampening ache that was building in her core.

“ _ Leo _ .” It was a whimper against his mouth, almost a plea, and had she been any more present, it might have embarrassed her to sound so bloody desperate.

In the end, it was the way she said his name that undid him, breaking the last of his control as she whimpered against his mouth and rubbed against him. The zipper of his fly pinched a little, but the heat of her over him - even through the thick denim - was too good, so he ignored the little bite of pain. He used it to drive forward instead, and his hands gliding over her thighs, pushing under her dress to cup her arse and direct her movements.

He managed to pull his mouth from hers to kiss down the long, pale column of her throat, settling to nibble at her collarbone as his fingers toyed with the edge of her knickers.  _ Bloody hell _ , he thought,  _ how much lace can one woman wear? _

He looped both of his thumbs into the band, and, after unhooking her leg from his hip, began to work them down her legs. He kissed the newly exposed skin where he could, enjoying the feel of the heat of her blush beneath his lips, and later teased her through the lace panels of her dress when her skin was no longer readily available to him; Fitz found that he took great pleasure in feeling the way her muscles jumped beneath his lips as he made his way down her body.

He allowed his fingers to gently glide over the backs of her knees as he settled before Jemma, her knickers sliding to pool around her ankles. He could smell her from where he was kneeling before her, and his cock throbbed with wanting. Fitz forced himself to take his time, and he opted to kiss each of her legs right where the hem of her dress ended as he permitted his hands to creep back up to her now-bare behind. He nuzzled the skin of her thigh, letting his breath wash over her as he licked delicate designs against her impossibly soft skin. He wanted to lift the skimpy hem and taste her, but he was unsure of how to ask her, so he opted to simply kiss further up her thigh and gauge her reaction.

“Chris’, Jemma,” he whispered, azure orbs meeting her coffee-colored ones as he inched up the hem of her dress to make room for his mouth, “you’ll be th’ death o’ me.”

He was both dominant and submissive, mouth soft but demanding as his hands pulled at her, rocking her into him with precision. Every motion, every press of him hard against her drew soft whimpers and gasps from Jemma. It was then that his hand sneaked up and tugged at the edge of her panties, pulling them down slowly until they were forgotten around her ankles and making everything else fade. She didn’t think it was  _ suppose _ d to be so damn erotic but of all the things he’d done so far the feel of his fingers sliding down the lacy fabric that had barely had a purpose in the first place was enough to send her to the edge of want and need, edging close to the precipice of everything they were doing.

Everything within her was tensed, anticipating the feel of his mouth against her, nerves sparking unbearably. She was almost strung too tight, too turned on and it worried her that she might snap before anything had even started. His breath on her thighs, the little patterns he was making with his tongue on skin that rarely saw the light of day, was enough to make her spine curve a little.

“Hopefully not anytime soon,” she said in response to his whisper, voice shaking from the tension built up in her. Suddenly she was nervous, self-conscious about skin and anatomy that she’d never thought he’d  _ want _ to see. Everything came rushing in then: the slightly painful press of the door handle into her spine and the precarious way she was standing, unsteady in her heels because her knees were trembling in anticipation and her ankles held hostage by the black lace wrapped around them.

“I don’t think I can stay standing if you do that…” This time it was a whisper and she was loathe to say it, but her knees were about to give out on her.

Fitz could feel her knees tremble against his arms, and the realization that he was causing her to react that strongly made him feel powerful. He grinned at her admission and reached up to take her hands and settle them on his shoulders before lifting first one leg, then the other, to remove her shoes and allow the scrap of black lace that had been masquerading as underwear to finally hit the floor.

Fitz stood slowly, keeping his body pressed close to hers, enjoying the feel of her curves against the planes of his body, his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her away from the wood as hers dangled over his shoulders. She looked delectable, her cheeks flushed and lips swollen from kissing, and in that moment he was sorely tempted to take her then and there, hard and fast against an unforgiving surface, tempted to let years of wanting combust so he could then take the rest of the night and focus on worshiping her, learning every inch of skin and the sounds she would make. But then Fitz caught Jemma’s eyes with his own, and once he saw the blatant desire there and any thought of having her against the door flew from his mind. As badly as he wanted to claim her, he wanted to give her something more memorable. Although with Jemma, he knew it couldn’t be anything but burned into his brain.

Even when he was old and grey and forgetting where he left his latest designs, this night would always burn bright in his memory.

So instead, Fitz slanted his lips across her mouth and his tongue slipped past her teeth to tangle with her own as he tugged her from the door and further into the room. His hands pawed at her back and sides, desperately searching for a zipper so he could take her out of the dress entirely. He still hadn’t found it by the time they hit the bed, and he growled into her mouth in frustration, his fingers curling sharply into the fabric that draped over her hips.

“Jemma,” he grit out between kisses, “help me ge’ you ou’ o’ this dress, before I have t’ rip it an’ buy you a new one.”

The push of his tongue against her teeth as it swept into her mouth made something entirely new light behind her eyes, as if she’d just woken up from the haze of lust and it allowed her the opportunity to catch up with everything that was happening. He was dizzyingly hasty in getting her across the room and it made her smile against his lips, feeling suddenly cheeky and mischievous at the way his hands were desperately trying to find the zipper of her dress.

He didn’t know there was no zipper, but rather small hook eye closures on the inside of the left seam. How else would the bloody thing be so tight? From the waist up it was practically a corset.

His words came out mumbled against her mouth but she could sense frustration in them and she actually laughed a little, twisting herself around until it was Fitz’ knees backed up against the bed. Jemma lifted her hands against his shoulders and gave a firm push. He must not have been expecting her to actually force him down because with her shoes off she was much shorter than him, rendering the idea of her being able to topple him off balance almost humorous, and he landed with a surprised grunt while she smiled, eyes flashing playfully and right eyebrow lifting in a challenge.

“Leopold Fitz, impeded by a cocktail dress? I never thought I’d see the day.” Jemma didn’t reach for the place where she knew the closures were hidden, tucked under a special little slip of lace, and instead she slid between his knees, left hand reaching for his tie.

The tie that she’d never seen before but found enticingly attractive on him, and tugged it gently. She wanted it off him, wanted to pull it off quickly and be done with it but she realized as she was tugging him closer to her that  _ this was good too _ and then she couldn’t help but drop her mouth to his ever so softly, hoping to throw him off with a delicate kiss in complete contrast to the shove she’d just given him and the tightening of her right fingers into his shoulder.

If Fitz were honest with himself, this was the kiss he had always expected from her, had always imagined: soft lips pressed gently against his, breath caught in his throat as he waited for her to deepen the kiss, afraid to believe any of it was true.

However, this wasn’t his imagination, and the fact that she pulled him to her with his own tie most definitely took the innocence from the kiss, giving it an edge sharp enough to cut any further doubts from his mind. He had no reason to be shy; she was already out of her knickers and could probably give a rather detailed description of what his erection felt like, even though his jeans. So, he reached up and cupped her jaw in his right hand before deepening their kiss.

He settled for a slow press into her, mapping the topography of her mouth with his lips and tongue as he eased his left hand between her thighs. With her position between his knees, he didn’t have a lot of room to work with, but what he had was enough. His fingers skimmed up and up until he found the heat he’d been searching for, what he’d been craving, and allowed his knuckles to just brush against her there. He grinned, setting his teeth into her bottom lip lightly and tugging gently as he flexed his wrist and repeated the motion, her wetness clinging to his fingertips.

He took his mouth out from under hers, let her see his eyes and the myriad of emotions he was sure is playing out behind his irises, and waited for her to make the next move, all the while slowly working his fingers against her.

_ “Oh god.” _

It slipped out from between her teeth when his fingers brushed against her, not spreading her, just a gentle tug of his callused fingers against the sensitive skin that was already damp and wanting. It sent spasms of pleasure through her core so fast it made her shiver, and she felt him smile against her mouth. Her eyes snapped open to meet his, intending to say something smart at his smugness but it was swallowed down with the raw heat Fitz had turned on her, his pupils blown wide and taking in every aspect of her face as his fingers brushed against her again, his wrist turning to the right by a degree.

_ Fuck _ .

It was just enough pressure to make her hips rock into his hand, seeking out more, wanting him to explore her until he was familiar with all the specific little nerves in her folds that made her vision blur and breathe hitch. He turned his wrist to the left, fingers rubbing against the other side of her and her hand slipped from his tie to his shoulder, and judging by the rapt way he was watching her, noting her every reaction, Fitz knew  _ exactly _ what he was doing.

Whatever  _ it _ was, it was working because Jemma wished she’d taken off her dress and let him have access to all of her. But then, she also wanted him out of his clothes as well, wanted to feel him hard in her hands. Before she could think twice, she was tugging at his tie again, this time to get it off of him, pulling it over his head in one single deft motion before making quick work of the buttons on his vest and shoving it off his shoulders and down his arms. All the while his fingers were teasing her and she was tempted to push his hand away for the torture of it.

He was shockingly good at giving her what she wanted, but also teasing her past the point of reason.

Rather abruptly his mouth was on hers again forcefully, tongue pushing past her teeth and tangling with hers in a heady battle, and then his hand was gone from her, leaving a cold shock of air in its wake. She was confused for a second, wondered what exactly Fitz thought he was doing, when she felt his hands on her dress again, feeling the rough tug and hearing the fabric split at the seams.

_ Well, it least it was good for tonight. _

Fitz hadn't been joking when he said he'd rip the dress to get it off her, but he still surprised himself when he actually heard the stitching give way beneath his grasping hands.

He was 26, a man grown, and he'd had his fair share of women. He had no reason to be  _ this _ excited by anyone...

_ Bu' it’s not any woman, it's Jemma _ , his mind hissed at him, and he tugged again, this time more firmly. He felt it give a little more, the fabric surrendering under his grip until it was finally loose enough for him to help her lift it over her head before tossing it on the floor.

_ Chris'. _

She wasn't wearing a bra.

Fitz froze, confronted with the sight of a nude Jemma Simmons.

She was perfection, with her hair mussed and lips swollen, her want clearly written across her face. He had to touch her, and found his hands moving of their own volition to bracket her waist and pull her onto his lap, his mouth enveloping one dusky nipple as his hand stroked up her back to settle between her shoulder blades and hold her in place. Jemma was warm and soft above him, her center grinding down over him as she settled into his hold, and that was when he knew he could die happy.

Soon, merely having her twined about him wasn’t enough, so Fitz flipped Jemma, pressing her back to the mattress even as their legs dangled off the edge. He took a moment to kiss her, tongue dueling with hers as he returned the motion of her hips and ground himself into her. The sensation was dulled thanks to his clothing, but the relief provided was just enough to allow him to turn his full attention to the woman beneath him.

Fitz kissed a line down her chin, lightly scraping his teeth against her throat before moving to her chest. He lavished her breasts with attention, a thrill shooting down his spine at the sensation of her nipples pebbling under his tongue. He was doing that to her, and it stirred up a powerful concoction of lust and pride within his chest. Still, Fitz refused to be distracted and continued to press kisses down her stomach until he was forced to slide off the bed and kneel between her thighs. He nipped at her hip bones as his hands gripped her thighs, opening her to him and his gaze.

She was slick and swollen and he could smell her desire. Fitz’ cock surged painfully against the confines of his jeans, and he bit back a groan before placing a short line of kisses along the crease where her thigh met her hip. He stopped just short of kissing the heated flesh before him, allowing his breath to wash over her. He looked up, seeking her eyes, only to find that she was pressing herself into the duvet, her fingers clenching the soft white fabric and her body taut with anticipation.

 


	5. Chapter 5

"Jemma," he called, voice soft yet full of need.

He needed to see her, wanted her to see him, and waited until her golden gaze was locked to his own before leaning forward and slowly lapping at her from bottom to top.

She didn’t know what to expect with the way he said her name-- it was a mixture of want and desperation, something reminiscent of the years they’ve known each other and the time spent wondering if this would ever happen. But when her eyes connected with his, a haze of lust over his features, she knew what Fitz was refusing to say. She knew exactly what that want and desperation in his voice meant.

He was never  _ not _ going to want to this now.

_ She will never not want this now _ . Now that she knew what  _ this _ was like - what it felt like to have his calluses pull at her skin and what it looked like to have him between her thighs staring at her with want - she’ll need it the way she needed him beside her. She might have been floating around on waves of alcohol-induced confidence, and it might never be quite like this again-- there could only be one first time-- but she’d now always want what this and everything it meant to them. It was unspoken, communicated with only the exchange of golden hazel staring into captivating blue.

It’s all the confirmation he seemed to need because his mouth was on her then, tongue pressing into her folds with a blissful heat. Her head fell back as her eyes slid shut and her lips parted in a wordless, breathless exhale. His tongue was smooth and warm, sliding down the center of her sex, and she could feel the tremors wrack through her: the tightening, the slickness that leaked out and coated his lips as they moved against her, the curling of a need for something deeper and harder inside her.

The motion of her hips was uncontrollable, the push of her body upward and falling back in a gentle but firm rhythm, and she let herself fall into the instinct of it so she could make every little movement, every little press of his tongue on her into a memory imprinted into her mind. Every nerve was shooting off pure pleasure to her senses, his mouth working her with precision, and when his teeth scraped against her, nipping tentatively to gauge her reaction, there was no stopping the almost guttural moan that it pulled from her or the way she clenched -  _ hard _ \- the beginning flutter of something orgasmic building.

_ “ _ Fuck _. Leo.” _

She coated his tongue, cloying and tangy and just  _ Jemma _ , and Fitz found that he couldn’t get enough, particularly after the way she’d clenched against the combined assault of his lips and tongue. He snaked an arm around her hip and over her stomach, holding her in place as he repeated the action, nipping gently before soothing her with the flat of his tongue. He watched as the muscles in her lower abdomen tensed, could feel her spasm against his lips as her thighs quivered against his cheeks. She was close, but he wanted to put her over the edge; his male ego demanded it, wanted to hear his name fall off her lips in another moan as she broke apart. He needed to hear it, to know that he’d given her pleasure and that she was entirely his.

Carefully, to avoid startling her, he brought his free hand between them and gently worked first one, then two, fingers into her, pumping and curling forward, seeking that one, particular spot... He knew he’d found it when her hips arched violently off of the bed and a groan was seemingly ripped from her throat. Fitz redoubled his efforts, intent on sending her over the edge and into an orgasm. Before long he could feel her clench around his fingers, her clit throbbing against his tongue, and his cock gave an answering throb as she fisted her hands once more into the bed linens and whimpered.

Fitz was crushed by the desire to be inside of her, to feel her fluttering around him as he kissed her sex, ears eagerly drinking in the sounds Jemma made as pleasure overtook her.  _ Later _ , he promised himself,  _ you’ll have her soon enough, an’ if she’s willin’, as often as you wan’ _ , and he eased her through the aftershocks of her release.

After she’d come down a bit, Fitz placed a kiss on each hipbone and ran his hands soothingly up and down her thighs, stopping to skim across her kneecaps before journeying back up to rest on her hips. He pressed a kiss to her stomach next, smiling against the soft skin there and making sure to keep his weight off of her as he moved further up her body. He halted his progress at her sternum, placing a kiss between her breasts before resting his chin on the same spot and observing her.

Jemma’s cheeks were flushed, her teeth set into her lower lip, and he could see her pulse still jumping at her throat. Her eyes were screwed shut, though, and he wished she’d open them so he could see her, all of her, and so she could see what she did to him. He’d wanted her for ages, had been in love with her for years, and now, was merely waiting to leap over the edge of that precipice that marked their forever. He skipped the fingers of his right hand over the gentle curve of her waist and up to her breast, cupping it gently before rolling her nipple between his fingers. Her eyes fluttered open and met his, dazed but happy, the look of a satiated woman. She gave him a small, shy smile as he watched her, one he couldn’t help but return as the warmth of his affection for her spread through his chest.

“I’d be a happy man t’ be able t’ watch tha’ th’ res’ o’ my life,” he confessed, bold beyond his usual capacity, although bringing a beautiful woman to orgasm was known to do that to a man. Still, Fitz felt himself blush and leaned down to press another kiss to her, this time just over her heart, hoping to hide his face.

 

S he felt loose, like all of her muscles had just been used and found lacking but his words still managed to make her heart pick up speed again, her cheeks flushing. His hand was still cupping her breast and she loved the feel of his hands on her, as if Fitz were trying to memorize the way it felt in his palm. Her ears were ringing with the letdown of her orgasm, the residual effects of his mouth on her and fingers inside her, her senses still warped a little by the rush of chemicals that had accompanied it.

Slowly but surely everything righted itself and she found that he’d tucked his head between her breasts, that she could feel the hot puff of air from his breathing on the skin there. It was almost shy, even after what he’d just done to her, making her come apart with his tongue and mouth. A slow burn builds in her again, not the same lust as before but rather a deep sort of longing that simmered low but burned hot. She put one of her hands in his hair, fingers wrapping around the curls there and pressed up with her pelvis, trying to catch his attention again as her other hand wrapped around the collar of his shirt. His head eventually came up, eyes meeting hers, and she lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Why are you still wearing this?” She tugged at the collar in her hand, her question both seductive and sincere. She’d been so caught up in his hands on her that she’d failed to notice that while she was completely bare to him, he was still almost fully clothed.

It wasn’t fair.

She hooked an ankle around his leg, giving herself some leverage and twisted herself around until Fitz was pushed back into the mattress and Jemma hovered above him, resting just above his hips and straddling him. She tugged the buttons of his shirt between her fingers and worked them open one by one, eyes and attention focused so her drunken fingers wouldn’t ruin his clothing.

She was going to want to see him in them again, of that she was absolutely positive.

With a little pulling and tugging, the shirt finally fell off the side of the bed, forgotten instantly. She slid herself down onto his hips and searched for the button and zipper on his denim trousers, finding them quickly but becoming rather distracted by the hard press of him against her core. She heard him gasp at the feel of her above him, the pressure against him just where he seemed to like it, so she rolled her hips once just to see what he would do.

He groaned and it set her in motion again, the work of her fingers nearly forgotten as she lifted and fell against him repeatedly, the rough denim rubbing against her almost painfully. She wasn’t nearly as close as she’d been earlier, when she’d been ready to come at the slightest touch of his hands, and this— the feel of him hard and wanting beneath her but still restrained— was making her feel that slow burn build into something more once again, the pace of her hips picking up.

Fitz was dazed by the sight of her above him, moving with a languid grace as she worked at the buttons of his shirt. Fitz could feel the heat of her against his stomach, and fought the urge to grip her by the hips and bodily move her where he wanted her most. His cock throbbed when he felt her nails scrape against his shoulders as his shirt fluttered to the floor, and he set his teeth into his lower lip to bite back a groan. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, full of lust, and caused his heart to speed up as they raked over his torso. Jemma’s hands followed the path her eyes had blazed as she settled herself squarely over his crotch, her fingers settling on the button of his jeans and toying with it.

This time, despite his clenched jaw, a groan slipped out as he brought his hands to rest on her knees, his fingers pressing into her flesh as he fought the urge to buck up into her. He wanted to slide his hands up those smooth, tempting thighs to dip his fingers between them once more, but the desire to see what Jemma would do next was too strong. He met her eyes and could swear she gave him a little wink before purposefully grinding herself against him. His eyes crashed shut, his head snapped back, neck tense as he arched his hips up into her, meeting her movements.

It was good, so good, to have Jemma above him, working herself against him, inching him closer to release as she reignited her own arousal. Part of him, the part that had been ready to go since first catching sight of her in the bar, wanted to let her go, let her finish him and everything else be damned. However, it was a tiny part, and the urge to have her quickly overwhelmed him. Moving quickly, before he could be lulled further by the rhythm of her hips, Fitz cupped the back of her head and pulled her sharply down to him for a rough, sloppy kiss. The sudden movement caused her to pitch forward, breaking the contact between their hips just enough so he could undo his jeans. Jemma, brilliant girl that she was, shifted to help him get both his jeans and boxers over his hips; Fitz took it from there, somehow managing to divest himself of the rest of his clothing without breaking their kiss or unseating her.

She settled over him again, flesh on flesh, and Fitz couldn’t help but nip at her bottom lip as he felt her slick, sweet heat slide against his erection. He flexed into her, catching against the delicate folds and nudging against her clit.

He pulled back slightly, nose still brushing against hers and lips a hair’s-breadth apart, to whisper to her.

“Chris’, I wan’ you.”

He left it at that, giving control over to her as he craned forward to kiss her once more.  

Fitz was pressed against her almost completely, the head of his erection pushing up against her clit. It was nearly driving her crazy but she didn’t want to rush this, wanted to know what it felt like to make him wild with want. He was close, but not nearly as close as she wanted him and she contracted the muscles in her thighs so she could slide down the length of him, letting the heat radiating from her center tease him with anticipation. It was a tease for her too, because now she knew what was missing inside her, what she could have if she’d just move her hips a little to the right and let him in.

But she wouldn’t. Not yet.

She tugged at his lips with her teeth in firm nips as she rocked above him, setting into a slow glide over him. It was almost  _ too  _ good and she had to bite back her own whimper as his hands wandered down her body, exploring at will the skin and areas she’d never revealed to him before. It was a dangerous game to play, deliberately creating friction between them but not allowing him the movement inside her, only for the fact that she was back on the edge again and she didn’t know how long she could keep this up.

 

He pushed up toward her with the next roll of her hips, impatient and nearly to the point she’d wanted him at earlier, causing her vision to go white as he hit a spot that made her shiver, a place she hadn’t even known about, and her mouth latched onto his passionately, her tongue slipping past his teeth forcefully to sweep across the inside of his mouth to mimic the movements she was teasing him with.

The tension was back inside her, that same familiar unsatisfied ache of want for him to take her, make her feel like she was a part of him. She could feel it roll through her, the deep ache making its way forth from her chest where it had originated down to her center, where it ricocheted through her walls, making it so she was ready for him, and finally finding its way to her legs, making her tremble at the desire she had for him.

“I want--” Her words, already muffled by the press of his mouth against hers were cut off because his left hand wrapped around the curve of her hip and his fingers dug in forcefully, while the other reached between them, brushing against all of her overly sensitive nerves and pulling her onto him with a grunt into her mouth as they both slipped into the shock of how they feel together.

“ _ Oh… _ ”

Jemma’s exclamation as he took her, breath puffing warm against his lips and chin as her cry died in her throat, sent a shiver dancing down his spine and caused his gut to clench. He struggled to keep himself still, not wanting to give in just yet to the pull of the sweet sensation of being inside of her. But  _ damn _ , was it difficult, and his hands locked tightly onto her hips, fingers tensed and likely creating bruises on her delicate flesh. She was tight and he could feel every ripple of her around him as she ground her hips onto his, urging him to move. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped him as he held himself back, not wanting it all to end too quickly.

However the minx gave a particularly tempting twitch of her hips, and he stopped resisting her, reaching to cup her jaw and pull her down for a kiss. Fitz gave an experimental swivel of his hips, searching for a spot that'll make her see stars. He found it on the second pass, his stroke brushing something that caused her fingers to skitter across his chest and stomach, seeking leverage as she moaned, low and desperate, against his lips. The slight bite of her nails pulled him back from the edge of oblivion, and Fitz edged his right hand around the front of her hip just enough so his thumb could seek out that bundle of nerves that he knew will edge her even closer to a second orgasm.

Just then, Jemma levered herself off his chest, and while he had no problem with her dictating their pace, he was entirely unwilling to lose the feeling of her heart beating against his own. He moved with her, tugging her legs around his waist as he sat at the edge of the bed, eventually bringing his hands to splay across her arse in order to push her more firmly against him and direct as much friction over her clit as he possibly could. Her arms were twined about his neck, breasts pressed firmly against him, as they exchanged open-mouthed kisses. They were both sloppy, surrendering to the haze of lust that had been hanging over them since he approached her earlier in the evening.

“ _ Fuck _ , Jemma, I- so-” he grit out as he rested his forehead against hers.

He couldn’t even get out a complete sentence, so he stopped trying, instead opting to kiss his way across her jaw, down the pale expanse of her throat, and over to her collarbone. He worried the spot with his lips, teeth, and tongue, not caring that he’d leave a love bite there. Fitz was lost in the heat of her, the wonder that was Jemma, and gave himself over to her completely, enthralled by the feeling of her around him.

 


	6. Chapter 6

His strokes were powerfully deep, hitting nerves that she had never felt before and with every pull, push, back and forth inside her, it sent waves of sensation through her. Rippling, sharp and strong, and every movement heightened all of her senses as if she were experiencing them for the first time.

She could hear him breathe in, deep inhales as he thrust upward into her and ragged, almost vocal exhales as she pulled away from his push to create the steady rhythm they’d fallen into. She could smell the cologne he wore, the perspiration that was slicking his skin and the way her perfume had laced through it. She could feel the muscles, tendons, the flesh under her fingers bend and flex in response to her touch, could feel the way he was exerting himself. She could even taste him, the slide of their tongues and teeth against one another in an almost frantic clash to match what was happening between them. She watched him, the same way he was watching her rise and fall above him, his pupils wide and dark but full of something more than just lust and want and need… It was potent, overwhelming and she soaked it in, eyes breaking contact with his only when they fluttered as he pushes up against that one spot that made her quiver around him.

She was so close, almost to the point of coming undone around him, everything that had been between them for years-- the moments, the memories, the life they’ve lived beside one another-- all sweeping in one rush, flashing in her brain brightly as he moved against her with a heat they’d never created before.  His mouth was locked onto hers, his tongue slipping beneath and over hers but she needed to say it,  _ had  _ to say it while Fitz was inside her, even if it came out mumbled against his mouth and incomprehensible.

“ _ I love you. _ ”

He felt the words slide over her tongue and slip across her lips, could taste each syllable and curve his tongue around each letter, learning their varying textures before they sent his heart into his throat and tied his stomach in knots.

Jemma’s soft  _ I love you _ reverberated through him, breaking his heart the tiniest bit even as he drove into her, claiming her as his own. He’d always wanted to hear those words from Jemma, knew there was an underlying truth to them, but he didn’t want to hear them while she was under the influence. Fitz couldn’t bear the thought that while she might say it now, the absence of alcohol in the morning would result in a retraction of her affection.

Still, her mouth was insistent against his, and Fitz decided to push his concerns to the back of his mind; they could navigate her confession in the morning, if Jemma was even aware of what she’d said then. He renewed his attention on the bundle of nerves nestled between her legs, pressing firmly with the pad of his thumb as he swiveled his hips against her own, making sure to hit the spot that made her shake and moan.

Jemma came apart around him, her nails raking across his scalp and shoulders even as she moaned against his mouth. The feel of her milking his cock was too much to bear, and the tight coil of tension in his lower back released as Fitz gave himself over to his own orgasm, his hands spasming hard against her lower back as the rest of him shuddered with the force of his passion. The feeling was so intense, not just the physical pleasure but also the emotional high of knowing that it was  _ Jemma  _ with him, that he felt something break inside of him and had to bury his face in her neck as he groaned through it.

They drifted back to reality slowly, mingled sweat cooling and their respective grips loosening as the haze of pleasure began to clear. Fitz was hesitant to let go of Jemma, so he only pulled back slightly, needing to see her face. Her eyes were soft and out of focus, the blush fading from her cheeks, neck, and chest. His heart clenched and gut roiled, torn between being pleased at putting the sleepy, sated look on her face for the second time that evening and fearing having to confront what she’d said. Fitz met her eyes, the clear beginnings of confusion forming there. Fitz winced internally, not wanting to hurt Jemma, but unwilling to return the sentiment until he knew they were both fully sober.

Instead, he brushed the hair from her face, placed a gentle, surprisingly chaste kiss on her lips, and gave her a small smile, content in the moment.

Jemma wanted to enjoy the lingering moments of their efforts, the feeling of him inside her even without any movement, the soft clench of her walls as her climax subsided, the soft and satisfied exchange of kisses and their breath lingering between them as they descended. She wanted to, even allowed herself forget for a moment that Fitz hadn’t said a word to her confession when he dropped a gentle kiss against her lips, but it came flooding back when her eyes opened and she could see conflict in his eyes where something deep and wonderful had just been.

She wasn’t drunk anymore. Well, physically Jemma could tell she was still drunk, could feel the effects of the alcohol still in her system. But the carefree, lighthearted, lusty fog of it was gone and replaced by the reality that she’d said what she’d never felt she could say before, and Fitz had let it die between them.

Suddenly, abruptly--the effects of the liquor in her were making Jemma’s emotions more pliant-- tears pooled at the corner of her eyes. She was an idiot _.  _ All she wanted was for Fitz to separate from her, wanted to be just herself again because he’d  _ never _ said he loved her. He’d only said he wanted her.

Somehow, despite the lust and need they’d both had, Jemma had thought there had been something else motivating it. It was Fitz after all,  _ her _ Fitz, and she’d thought…

Bloody hell, she’d let him take her- drunk and wanting- from a bar to a hotel and practically jumped him. She pressed her eyes closed, trying to stem the sudden moisture that has accumulated, as Jemma shifted to pull herself away from Fitz.

Things would never be the same again.

“Let me up,  _ please _ .” It was a forced whisper, all she was willing to say into the heavy air around them at the moment.

Fitz obeyed her without thinking, taking his hands off her body and letting her go. The sudden loss of the warm, soft feel of her in his lap wounded him more than he had anticipated, and he could only watch, shocked, as she wrapped herself in the throw that had been draped across the foot of the bed and dashed into the bathroom. The cold click of the frosted glass door in its metallic frame snapped Fitz from his reverie, and the evidence of their passion, was quickly cooling, sticky across his groin and hips, and sent a lancing pain through his chest.

If he’d just acknowledged what she had said, they wouldn’t be here, separated by a glass door. Instead, they’d be in bed, kissing and cuddling and perhaps heading for round two.  _ You’re a fuckin’ moron _ , Fitz thought to himself as he retrieved his boxers from the floor and slid them back up his legs before approaching the bathroom door.

He could just see her through the glass, seated at the vanity, her head in her hands, shoulders shaking in time with each of her soft sobs. That nearly killed him, and Fitz reached for the handle, intent on going in there after her. If he could just hold her and apologize for being such an idiot, maybe begging for a second chance could make it better. But the door wouldn’t budge, so he was stuck on the wrong side of the glass, nearly powerless to fix what he’d broken.

“Jemma,” he called, voice soft but firm, “please le’ me in.” He saw her hunch over further, withdrawing from him even more than she already had. He sighed, raking a hand through his already mussed curls before leaning against the glass and pressing both palms against the cool surface, as if he were trying to press through and get to her. “I’m sorry I dinnae say anythin’, lass. I just-” he trailed off, at a loss as to what he should say.

“I dinnae wan’ you t’ hear it this way, lass. I couldnae have you thinkin’ tha’ I only said it because I was drunk o’ because I’d gotten somethin’ from you. Jemma, please, please dinnae ever think tha’s all I wan’ from you. You’ve no idea…” Fitz trailed off as his own tears formed and began to fall, slowly leaving salty tracks running down both of his cheeks. “I wan’  _ everythin’  _ from you, Jemma. I wan’ us workin’ in the lab durin’ the day and sharin’ a bunk at nigh’. I wan’ t’ visit Sheffield wit’ you on some holidays, and for you t’ visit Glasgow wit’ me on others. I wan’ t’ be able t’ kiss ye on the Bus withou’ anyone breathin’ or thinkin’ the word ‘fraternization.’ An’ when I do say it, I wan’ you t’ be certain tha’ it’s no’ because I’ve been drinkin’. I wan’ t’ be able t’ say it in the open, where anyone could hear me.”

His tears were falling thick and fast and he pulled his head back, leaving his hands as the only points of contact he had with the door, with Jemma. He could see that her shoulders were still shaking, and she hadn’t bothered to turn and face him, despite everything he’d said. Fitz retreated to sit once more at the edge of the bed, determined to give her the space she seemed to need, but unwilling to leave her alone entirely.

He’d wait for as long as he needed to, just so long as Jemma would talk to him.

His words are what she’d wanted to hear, but now they feel forced-- as if he’d felt he  _ had  _ to say them because of what they’d just shared and how she’d run from him.

The cold truth was, she would never regret this night and it set more tears to her face to know it so adamantly. Jemma would never regret the feel of Fitz under her, inside her, the way his mouth had felt against hers, or the tender way his lips had ghosted across her skin. Even drunk, it had still been what she’d wanted from him for  _ years _ .

But she couldn’t stay now, not with the sex and the words she’d spoken lingering in the midst of them. It would mean a transfer, a separation that she had always feared made of her own doing. Jemma wouldn’t be able to face him every day-- in the lab, on the Bus, anywhere really-- and remember this only to not have it. She’d never been a romantic, never needed much in regards to relationships, content with her work and Fitz, but knowing would make it impossible to stay content now.

Jemma has no defense, nothing in her repertoire to stop the inevitable confrontation that would come with unlocking the bathroom door and stepping out. She didn’t even have clothes, only the soft blanket she’d thrown around herself and clutched at her chest, her hair a mess of loosened curls and her mascara smudged under her eyes from the tears that had spilled from her eyes. On top of the surface disarray, she could feel the a beginning ache between her thighs that would normally be welcome, a sign of satisfaction and needs sated, but now just left her a little sore and hollow.

She sighed, reached for a tissue and wiped the dark lines of her mascara from under her eyes, staring at herself in the mirror for a long moment. Jemma had never felt more at odds with herself. Her fingers clenched into the blanket more tightly and her shoulders straightened just a touch. There was no escaping it, so it would be better to face him and be done with it.

She stood, tugging the blanket along with her and pushed her hair to the side over her shoulder (there was nothing that could be done about that without a comb or brush), and moved for the door.

There was no drunken sway, no loose limb feeling in her legs or arms, only graceful motion as she pulled it open.

Fitz started when he heard the slide of the door in its track, even though he’d been anticipating it. What he hadn’t been anticipating was being bowled over by her yet again. Even with her curls in disarray, wrapped in a blanket, Jemma looked the part of a woman fresh from bed, and as always, she took his breath away. The only things that marred the moment were her tear-bright eyes and the tear tracks staining her cheeks. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, repeat that he was sorry, hit his knees and beg for forgiveness, but all of his words died in his throat.

He didn’t like how Jemma refused to meet his gaze, or how she tip-toed around the room searching for her clothing. She only approached him when she wanted her dress, and only because it still at the floor near his feet. She cut her eyes toward him, skittish, before bending down to snatch the dress off the floor. Jemma turned and headed back to the bathroom, presumably to change, when the fear of losing her for good forced Fitz to act. He reached out, fingers brushing along the back of her arm to catch her hand. Fitz kept his grip on her gentle, but refused to let Jemma go.

“Jemma, please, jus’ hear me ou’. If you dinnae like wha’ I have t’ say, I’ll respec’ tha’. Bu’ please, hear me ou’.”

She turned slowly, tightening her grip on the blanket, pulling it closer around her form. Jemma’s eyes were guarded, and that killed him, particularly after seeing the love and want and excitement that they had held earlier. Fitz swallowed thickly, not sure he could even do this, but forced himself to continue even though he had to drop her hand to do so. This was easily the most important argument he’d ever make in his life, bigger than either of his doctoral dissertations. Fitz knew that in his bones, and it terrified him. Still, he found the strength to point out the two small piles he’d made on the bed in front of him. There was nothing earth-shattering there, just bits and bobs from his pockets, but he’d realized something as he’d gone through his jeans while waiting for her to come out of the bathroom.

“Jemma, tha’s my life in a nutshell. Everythin’ I’d been carrying’ in my pockets tonigh’. Tha’ pile there,” he said, indicating the smaller one on the right, “tha’s just me. Jus’ my ID an’ some cash, nothin’ importan’. Tha’ one, th’ other one, tha’s everythin’ I carry tha’s tangled up wit’ you.” He rifled through the pile on the left, picking up his money clip first. 

 

“You gave me this when we graduated. I havenae used anythin’ else since. An’ this,” he picked up a few small metal objects, clearly intended to build something larger, “this is par’ of tha’ injection gun you wanted, t’ deliver the team’s immunizations an’ such. I was workin’ on it when Ward asked if I’d join him tonigh’.” He quickened his pace now, worried that Jemma was  losing patience with him and would pull away, ultimately leaving him alone. He grabbed his phone, ignoring the rest of the pile.

He tapped the power button, and a picture of the two of them popped up, the picture they’d taken ages ago in Peru. He showed it to Jemma before unlocking the device. “Tha’s wha’ I wake up t’ everyday: the two o’ us.” He clicked on “gallery” and began flicking through the pictures, letting Jemma see each one as he does so. “There may be maybe five pictures on here tha’ aren’t o’ the two o’ us; in those five, i’s us wit’ the team.” He clicks to his SMS folder, then his call log, and finally the note app he uses to jot ideas down on the go. “You absolutely dominate my call log, lass, an’ my text’ messages. An’ half these notes are abou’ projects we’re workin’ on, ideas abou’ how I can fix wha’ needs fixin’ so I can get out o’ the way an’ let you shine.” He locked the phone once more, setting it down on the bed, and turned his eyes back to her.

Her face was inscrutable, and Fitz feared that he’d lost her for good.

Still, he reached out to her once more, taking her free hand in his yet again, and did his best to memorize her face. Dread settled heavily in the pit of his stomach when he thought that could be the last time he’d be able to really examine Jemma, so Fitz did his best to commit the curve of her lips, the angle of her nose, and the gentle honey color of her eyes to memory before he lost the opportunity.

“Jemma, my life isnae tangled up in you because it has t’ be, bu’ because I  _ wan’  _ it t’ be. I spend more time thinkin’ abou’ you than I should, an’ even if you walk away from me tonigh’, this will still be th’ bes’ nigh’ I ever had, because you gave me somethin’ precious. You are my life, Jemma, an’ I could never regret wha’ we did here. Bu’ I am sorry tha’ I gave you reason t’ doubt me, an’ I’ll spen’ the res’ o’ my life apologizin’ if it means you’ll stay wit’ me. Jemma, if tha’ doesnae tell you I love you, I dinnae kno’ wha’ will.”

Fitz swallowed heavily, his adam’s apple bobbing in a vain attempt to ease his sandpaper-dry throat, while his heart raced and nerves clanged, waiting for Jemma to respond.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Jemma was wary at first, not sure what Fitz was getting at. The thought that he might just be trying to get her back into bed startled her. No matter what happened between them now, he was still Fitz and he  _ wasn’t _ like that.

She allowed him the time he’d asked her to listen, and her eyes skated between him and the random little objects laying on the bed they’d just shared, her eyes widening with every syllable that slipped past his lips. It was the most he’d ever said about them, about her, before tonight and every single word sharply hit her heart. All of it truthful, all of it beautiful, and she’d never expected it from Fitz. Jemma had known her life was twined with his in all sorts of ways, but she’d never realized how much  _ his _ was in  _ hers _ . It was shockingly wonderful as he scrolled through the pictures of them together, the notes he had saved, the text messages that he kept from her…

Jemma realized Fitz had gone silent, waiting for her to respond to what he’d said but she couldn’t make a sound; the knot in her throat wouldn’t allow for it.

She’d been intent on dressing - despite her dress being in tatters - and walking out of this room with a crushed heart.

But with the way Fitz was staring at her, eyes glancing between her face and their interlaced fingers, any and all intention of leaving vanished.

There were no words for this, nothing that could hope to match what Fitz had just said, and Jemma didn’t  want to tarnish them with her own. Instead she dropped the tattered dress from her free hand and slid into him, kissing Fitz with something sweet and delicate.

All of the tension he’d been holding released as Jemma settled into his lap, mouth pressed against his. This was the kiss of old lovers, nothing like before, with sweetness replacing raw heat, although despite the change, Fitz felt the beginnings of arousal once more. Her hands were active, skating over his shoulders and into his hair, gentle caresses that Fitz couldn’t help but lean into, craving her touch.

The blanket slipped, pooling around Jemma’s waist, and Fitz shifted closer, wanting the comfort of being skin-to-skin as they traded feather-soft kisses. Eventually, he noticed the chill of the room, saw the gooseflesh that had formed on Jemma’s shoulders, and urged her off his lap so he could clear the bed and pull back the covers for them both. He slipped between the sheets first. Fitz couldn’t help the sleepy smile the sight of her brought to his lips, the smile of a man entirely satisfied with his lot in life.

“C’mere, love. It’s too cold ou’ there.”

She tucked in next to him, body winding around his in ways that were more for affection and comfort than anything lustful. Fitz was warm and Jemma eagerly pressed her face into the space between his neck and shoulder, hands gently roaming over his arms and back with light caresses.

Their cuddling was so different than before, the almost frenzied coupling, and it took her alcohol-soaked brain a moment to catch up with the shift in mood. It was so good though, the way Fitz held and touched her with a reverence that made Jemma tremble. The heat of everything before had been needed, wanted, lusted after for years by both of them and it had been satisfying all on its own. But this… This was satisfying on a whole new level. She thought to say something in response to his rather romantic declaration, but ultimately found that she couldn’t find anything remotely near satisfactory.  

Jemma lifted her head from his shoulder with an almost drugged motion and pressed her mouth to his with no intention of deepening the kiss; she was content with the feel and shape of his lips on hers. Suddenly, she knew what she wanted to say, what might make him smile so that hesitant look in his eyes would dissipate.

“We should do this more often.”

He’d been thinking that  _ this  _ was exactly what he wanted from her: physical affection, not just sex. That had been fantastic,  _ beyond  _ fantastic, but he liked being able to run his hand over Jemma, from hip to shoulder, learning the feel of her muscles and bone and skin without worrying about her pulling away, and so Fitz simply grinned at her suggestion before snuggling closer and burying his nose in her hair. He loved the way she smelled, a combination of her shampoo and perfume and them.

“I mean’ wha’ I said. I’ll be disappointed if you dinnae find your way int’ my bunk at leas’ a few nights a week. I’d hope for every nigh’, but the team migh’ make tha’ difficult.”

He sighed against the top of her head. Fitz hadn’t really thought about dealing with the team, having been carried away by the alcohol in his system and his own emotions. Ward and Skye knew and most likely wouldn’t care. Coulson would be forced to adhere to the party line, telling them that fraternization wasn’t allowed, but there was a chance he’d be willing to overlook Section 17 entirely. May was a wild card. He sighed once more, letting the thought go and hugging Jemma closer.

They could figure it out in the morning.

She smiled into his chest, lips brushing against his skin as they tugged upward.

“Hmm, if you plan on ravishing me the way you did, I think I might need at least a night between bunk visits to recuperate. Though, if you’re particularly sweet about it, I might be able to manage.” She looked up at him through her hair that had fallen across her face and gave him a mischievous smile.

Jemma didn’t want to think about going back to the Bus. Not now, when she was naked and every inch of her was fitted against Fitz. There was too much to figure out, too many consequences for their actions tonight, and she was still just drunk enough to not want to care. She did, however, care about one thing that she’d yet to mention as she drew slow circles into his skin with her fingertips.

“This hotel is gorgeous, by the way. I think I could get used to this room.”

Fitz quirked his brow at her before leaning in to slant his mouth across hers, distracting Jemma just enough so he could twist himself above her and effectively pin her beneath him on the mattress. She looked slightly surprised, if pleased, when he pulled back from the kiss, and he couldn’t help smirking down at her.

“You cannae say ‘ravishing’ t’ a man when you’re naked and in bed, Jemma, and expect him t’ no’ be affected.” He dropped kisses down across her forehead, nose and cheeks before kissing her lips once more, enjoying the languid pace. He felt he had more of a chance now to actually enjoy the feel of her against him, to study how her mouth tasted and skin smelled, and Fitz planned on enjoying it as much as he could before they were forced back to the reality of the Bus.

“And,” he whispered against her skin between feather-light kisses, “I’m glad you like the room, bu’ dinnae go fishin’ for information, Jem. Jus’ enjoy it, please.”

Jemma gasped as Fitz moved over her, loving the way his weight felt over her as he pushed her further into the most comfortable mattress she’d ever laid on. She blushed at his words, despite the fact that he’d already had her and knew what she sounded like as she unraveled around him.

His gentle kisses were making her feel light headed, all of her muscles still loose and shaky from their earlier exertion. She could tell Fitz had meant for her to enjoy more than just the room, and she smiled up at him, sliding her hands over his back and over his shoulders, applying the slightest pressure where she wanted Fitz pressed up against her even more than he already was. The way he was kissing her was almost drowsy, his tongue sliding easily between her teeth to brush against hers before retreating again, but the slowly building heat pooling between her thighs let meant sleep was the last thing on Jemma’s mind.

Her right hand glided over his back again and she noted the perspiration that was dewing his skin as she continued on to her goal, just barely tugging at the fabric of his boxers, in the hopes Fitz would take the hint. She let her tongue run the length of his bottom lip before speaking into his kiss.

“I’m sensing the beginning of a pattern with you having me naked while you’re still clothed. I’d like to object, please.”

Jemma didn’t want to be in control this time, more than happy to lay beneath him and just feel all of Fitz. Her voice wasn’t rough or lustful or even heavy, just light and pleasant and very much that of a woman who felt adored and very much wanted her lover undressed.

Fitz chuckled against her mouth before kissing her again, taking his time and enjoying the way her fingertips traced up and down his spine. He rocked against her, pushing his now hard cock against her heat, causing Jemma to arch up into his tease even as her fingers toyed with the elastic band on his boxers.

“It’s no’ my fault,” he told her, repeating the motion, “tha’ you look better naked than I do.” He skimmed his mouth across her cheek to set his teeth lightly into the lobe of her ear, quickly soothing the small hurt with his tongue. “If you wan’ ‘em off, take ‘em off, lass. I’ll no’ object.”

He felt her fingers slide a little further beneath the fabric separating them, the sensation of her nails on his skin sending little flares of warmth straight to his groin, and he kissed her in response, his tongue slipping past lips and teeth to stroke against hers. Fitz was hard pressed to decide whether he liked this better than before, and it occurred to him that he didn’t actually need to pick; as long as he didn’t cock up, this could be his for keeps, because  _ Jemma loved him _ . The thought made him slightly giddy, and as the fabric slipped past his hips he could feel the warm, wet press of her against him, causing Fitz to jerk against her.

Supporting himself above Jemma on one elbow, Fitz brought a hand between them to be sure Jemma was ready, not wanting to hurt her in his own excitement. Her folds were slick, parting easily around his digits, so he positioned himself against her and broke their kiss. He looked her in the eye as he took her this time, moving slowly, enjoying the play of emotions across her face as Jemma stretched around him. He settled within her, content to stay there, kissing and teasing her, until she insisted that he move.

It was slow, the slide of him as he fit into her and waited for her to react, eyes locked on hers. It should have been embarrassing, the way Fitz was watching her and her face as she took him in. It'd been that way in the past-- she'd never been able to hold eye contact, never felt secure enough to really just be in the moment. Though, truthfully there hadn’t been many of these moments in the past; she had been young and off to uni, and she’d finally given in to the neighbor boy who’d been chasing her. It was more clinical than anything, the awkwardness of the first time and the pain things that Jemma had anticipated. 

 

The only other time had been at SciTech, before Fitz-- because after him, there could be no one else-- and it had only been because she'd felt lonely. They'd dated and a few months later she'd let him kiss her, and he'd made her head spin but never managed to make her heart race. It wasn't special, it wasn't memorable, it just  _ was _ and they'd parted on good terms with him off to do a research project at the Chalet and her granted full access to the labs and best equipment SciOps had to offer.

Nothing was like this.

Fitz was still, gentle, watching her and it was intimate in a way she'd never felt before. While there was a little edge of lust there was no crazed need to reach the end, to finish before it was all too much. Jemma brushed her nose against his, whisky colored eyes meeting dark blue as she pulled her pelvis back just a little into the sheets to make him withdraw ever so slightly, a soft sigh falling from her lips as she did so.

“Do you know how long I thought you didn’t want me--” Jemma’s words were cut off with an intake of air as Fitz shifted inside her, stimulated nerves signaling pleasure to her brain as they sent a tingling all the way down to her toes.

The slight shift, and the feeling of Jemma squeezing around him, was all the signal Fitz needed. He rolled his hips into her, creating just enough friction to steal her breath and cut off her words.

In truth, he didn’t want to know how long she’d mistakenly thought that, didn’t want to dwell on how long he’d believed Jemma hadn’t thought of him that way, and refused to let her get into her own head. Their overthinking had gotten them in trouble earlier, and now Fitz just wanted her to feel and react. Wanted Jemma to feel him inside of her, her around him, the two of them pressed together in a luxurious bed as they learned this final aspect of each other.

Still, part of him hoped she could feel his apology all the same, the unspoken “I’m sorry,” for each of the women he’d dated even while pining for her, for ever making her doubt herself or him, for keeping her waiting. Fitz knew he’d been a fool, blind and scared, but now he had a chance to make up for it and fully intended to press his advantage.

Fitz rocked against her as he kissed her, making sure to flex into Jemma each time he bottoms out against her cervix, enjoying the breathy little moans that escaped her lips to brush against his cheek. It was a sweet torture, maintaining the slow pace when his entire body was begging him to speed up and finish her off, but the ecstasy in her eyes kept him in check. It occurred to Fitz then that no man had ever bothered to take his time with Jemma like this, to tease her and slowly drive her out of her mind before pushing her past the brink.

The thought of being her first in that regard made him grin against the side of her neck and nip at the tender skin there, even as he coaxed her legs around his waist, giving in to his body’s urge to at least  _ try  _ to blend them into one being.

Her head tilted back when he pulled her tight around him, tugging gently on her legs to wind them around his ribs, and Jemma didn’t mean to but she broke the long eye contact, hazel eyes sliding shut and back curving into every thrust he made.

Everything was fading: the room around them, the sheets soft against her skin, her drunkenness… It had all turned to grey as all of her focused in on him. Fitz was making her feel dizzy, leaving her head spinning and her heart beating so fast it was almost painful. With one hand at her waist and the other in her hair, the slow, deep way he was taking her was raw in a way. Jemma could feel the first flutterings of her orgasm as Fitz pulled slowly from her, stroking against all the small delicate areas that she’d only just become aware of, leaving her incapable of biting back the moan the sensation created in her chest, the feeling expanding from inside her and  _ needing  _ an escape.

Jemma threaded her fingers into his curls and forced Fitz to look at her with a gentle tug. She wanted his mouth on hers and he willingly obliged her with an indulgent kiss. She felt herself slipping, muscles almost completely useless as Fitz thrust into her with a strong, steady pace, filling her completely before drawing back in a maddeningly slow tempo.

There was no one thing Fitz did that pushed her past the edge; it was simply the consistent way he took her apart with his mouth against hers, his hands on her like he didn’t ever want to let her go. It was slow, deep, like the pace they’d set together and her orgasm began as a spasm at the very core of her, rippling down through Jemma as her walls shook around him and her body curved into his again.

She was making sounds, but Jemma didn’t recognize anything that resembled words and she buried her face into Fitz’ shoulder as the feeling pulsed through her. This time she came apart slowly, bit by bit around him, her face buried against his skin as her nails dug into his lower back, urging Fitz to drive deeper.

He wasn’t far behind, driven well past his own breaking point by the sight, sound, and feel of Jemma beneath him as he claimed her, loved her, as best he could in the moment. Fitz nuzzled against her cheek as he shuddered apart within her, searching for her mouth so he could kiss Jemma as he slipped down from his own high, muscles shaky and his entire body spent.

Fitz eased her legs down off his hips, tracing his fingers over the slightly quivering limbs as he did so, pleased to have another physical indicator of how he’d made Jemma feel, even as he had to withdraw from her. Moving carefully, he shifted her beneath him so he could lie down on the mattress and curl around her back, her head pillowed on his left bicep as his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush to him. She fit snugly against his body, and Fitz swore he could practically feel her purr as he placed little kisses along the back of her neck and shoulders as sleep began to tug at the edges of his consciousness.

~*~

 

At first Jemma wondered why she felt someone breathing against her, brain still sleep laden and groggy. But eventually, her brain caught up to her consciousness and she registered the soreness of all her limbs, tired from exertion and use. It wasn’t just her limbs that ache though, the feeling both welcome and a little painful as she realized exactly how long it had been since she'd had sex before last night. Her face flushed at the thought, her sober mind making her more herself than when she'd fallen asleep against Fitz.

He was curled against her, his arm around her hips and fingers splayed across her abdomen in sleep. Jemma smiled at the feel of Fitz’ skin against hers, warm from sleep and the down covers.

The sun peeked through the small space between the lush curtains that covered the overhanging balcony, reminding Jemma that while they might have been completely content to stay here and map each other’s bodies, the day outside had begun. She braved a glance at the clock next to the bed, hoping they hadn’t slept too late only to find it was only 6:30 am. 

 

Jemma considered her options: stay here in the warm bed, curled up against Fitz or brave the cold air for a shower. As much as she wanted to stay tucked in, she could feel the now dried remnants of their actions across her skin and the way her hair was tangled against her pillow.

She slid out the bed, moving slowly as to not wake Fitz and swayed on her feet before she could finally stand upright. Her head set to a sudden pounding and what had been a small ache between her legs twisted in protest of her sudden motion. Those pink drinks last night had apparently been stronger than she'd thought.

Swaying her way into the loo, Jemma fumbled through starting the shower and climbing in, letting the hot water soothe away her aches as she washed her hair with the luxury toiletries provided by the hotel. It was only then that she realized exactly how luxurious their room was, looking at the bottle of conditioner in her hand and knowing it cost more than she spent on all of her toiletries combined. She managed a long shower before stepping out to dry off and wrap a bathrobe around herself, towel drying her hair for the sake of not waking Fitz. The more sleep he had, the better. He wasn't horrible when hungover, but enough of a grouch that she didn't want to risk it.

Hair nearly dry and hanging in natural waves against her shoulders, she sneaked out of the loo and managed to order a large breakfast for them both from room service without Fitz so much as stirring. A stupid grin played across her face at the idea that she'd worn him out so thoroughly.

Fitz was pulled, rather unwillingly, from sleep by a light knocking, his eyes opening just enough to watch Jemma make her way to the door. He wondered who could be calling on them and feared for a moment that it was Coulson or May come to haul them back in and remind them of the anti-fraternization rules, until he smelled coffee.

Jemma had ordered breakfast.

It was enough to rouse him more fully from sleep, and Fitz pushed up onto his elbows to watch Jemma as she wheeled the cart in. His eyes drank her in, his still-drowsy brain noting the bathrobe and damp hair with a twinge of disappointment. He had been hoping to try the shower with her. He gave her a sleepy smile when she made eye contact as she settled herself into the lounge chair on the far side of the bed.

Jemma had opened the curtains on the balcony doors, letting the morning sun in and washing the small seating area with a warm, golden glow. Fitz found that he was fascinated by the way it highlighted her features, gilding her hair and caressing her shoulder where the robe had slipped to the side. Jemma looked more at ease than he’d seen her in years, confident even in the thin cotton robe, and warmth spread through his chest at the thought that this could be something he’d wake up to for years to come.

“You showered withou’ me,” Fitz gently groused at her, still smiling as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He felt a dull ache in his muscles, and knowing he smelled like sweat and stale sex, Fitz realized that he couldn’t very well get through a meal that way. He pushed off the mattress and made for the bathroom, not bothering to pull on anything; it wasn’t as if Jemma hadn’t already had the whole show.

“Give me a minute t’ clean up, an’ I’ll be back out t’ eat wit’ you.”

Jemma poured herself a cup of coffee and gently eased into the chair next to the bed, taking small sips so she didn’t burn her tongue as she watched the sleep begin to clear from Fitz’ eyes. He didn’t seem all that hungover which meant he’d be even more hungry than she’d anticipated. Jemma was about to comment on it when his legs swung over the side of the bed, covers sliding down and around his waist.

Fitz had never been all muscle, but he wasn’t rail-thin either. His torso was clearly defined, definitely male, and entirely attractive, rendering Jemma’s cheeks blushing a pale pink as her hazel eyes scanned him. She’d seen him--  _ all  _ of him-- last night, but she’d been intoxicated and under the influence of an undiluted longing for him. Now, she took in the sight of him: the mess of curly blonde hair rumpled from the pillow, the bright blue of his eyes against the morning light coming from the balcony, the familiar and yet seemingly new hands. Perhaps new simply because he’d never used them the way he had last night, at least not with Jemma. She’d seen those hands for years in the lab, worked around them and with them, but they’d still taught her something new as they’d explored every last inch of her the night before.

Fitz always had been and always would be incredibly handsome to her.

She smiled behind her cup of coffee at his admonishment that she’d showered without him, lifting a brow in amusement as he made his way toward the loo and she benefited from a full of view of him.

“I’ll  _ try _ to leave you a bit.”

She wasn’t playing fair, Jemma knew that, but still gifted him with playful grin as the smell of bacon and his other favorites filled the room. She’d ordered everything Fitz liked, knowing that they wouldn’t have the opportunity for moments like this in the near future.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Fitz showered quickly, his reluctance to be away from Jemma too long and a growling stomach urging him to move faster than he’d thought possible as he lathered up and rinsed off. Feeling refreshed, he stepped out, toweled off, and yanked the complementary comb through his hair before taking a swig from the miniature bottle of mouthwash that had been left on the counter. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than kissing Jemma with stale breath. Making sure his towel was wrapped securely around his waist, Fitz stepped out of the steamy air of the bathroom and headed to where she’d laid out breakfast for the two of them.

Jemma glanced up from the copy of  _ The Times _ she’d been reading as he approached, a smile lighting up her face when he dropped a kiss on the crown of her head with a mumbled, “Mornin’, lass,” followed by a chaste peck on the lips before he settled into the space she’d made for him.

Jemma had made sure the tray was set with his favorites: a few rashers of bacon, fried eggs, oatmeal, a croissant, and a cup of coffee (three sugars, one cream). He glanced at the rest of the cart, noticing the scones set there, as well as a fruit salad and other sundry items, and he wondered if she didn’t order the entire menu.

“Jemma, are you expectin’ me t’ need my energy later?”

Fitz arched a brow at her and grinned, enjoying the slightly suggestive look she gave him in return before shaking her head and turning her attention back to the broadsheet. She shared tidbits of information with him while they both ate, stealing off each other’s plates occasionally as they sipped at their coffee and eased into the day. It wasn’t all that different than how they’d pass a morning together on the Bus, although Jemma had never sat and chatted with him in a white cotton robe that went sheer in the sunlight before, and Fitz hadn’t heard her laugh so freely since their time at the Academy. Fitz found he quite liked the change.

However, as they came to the end of the  _ The Times _ , Fitz’ attention turned to how they’d be able to leave the private world they’d built for themselves on the Rue Saint-Honoré, not just how they would need to adjust to being this new version of FitzSimmons on the Bus, but how they’d literally walk out of it. Jemma’s dress was still torn, and she couldn’t very well leave in a bathrobe and her heels.  

“Jemma, as much as I dinnae wan’ t’ go back t’ the Bus jus’ yet, we need t’ think abou’ it. You’ll need clothes. Maybe you should text Skye an’ see if she could bring you somethin’ t’ wear. An’ if she doesnae min’, I could use new boxers a’ the very least.”

At his words, Jemma set aside the paper and made a small, discontented face, lips pouting and nose scrunched up just a little. It was barely eight in the morning and she didn’t want to go back to the real world. It was unlike her to want to hide away and do nothing, but there was something about this that she didn’t want to end. Jemma simply didn’t want to face Coulson and a lecture, or May with her knowing eyes, or even Ward and Skye with their little scheme successful. She just wanted a day to enjoy it, enjoy what had happened, sitting here in the softest cotton robe she’d ever worn and eating room service like they had no other place to be and no protocols to follow. She pushed herself up from her chair with her arms, the muscles in her legs still sore and worn out, to make her way over to Fitz. Without a word Jemma planted herself in his lap sideways, legs dangling over the side of his chair as he grunted at her sudden weight on him.

“Because  _ that’s _ not going to be an embarrassing request to ask of her. Ugh.” She rested her hand on his shoulder and her chin on her hand, staring at him and contemplating their options before sighing.

“Can we just forget the Bus? I mean, really, it’s not like they’d miss us… Okay, maybe they’d miss us.”

_ Damn it. _ He was right.  

Fitz found her weight in his lap pleasant, liking the ease with which she demonstrates their new found physical affection, and knew in that moment that they weren’t going back to the Bus today. He quickly did the math in his head, realized he had more than enough in his savings to cover another night here if they wanted it, along with a day on the town. Fitz brought a hand to her knee, lightly stroking the delicate skin there, inadvertently creating gooseflesh while he plotted the rest of their day.

“We dinnae need t’ be back at the Bus until tomorrow, righ’? I mean, I dinnae hallucinate hearin’ Coulson sayin’ we’d have two nights in Paris?”

He watched Jemma nod at him, hazel eyes lighting up as she caught onto his line of thinking.

“Then let’s do this. Text’ Skye first t’ tell her we’re alive an’ willnae be back until tomorrow mornin’. Then, you plan a day for us. We’ll do whatever it is you want t’ do. I’ll call the front desk an’ book us another nigh’, an’ see if laundry can put a rush on cleanin’ our clothes. If they cannae fix your dress, then we’ll see wha’ the concierge can do. I wouldnae be surprised t’ hear tha’ a place like this has a personal shopper or somethin’ of the sort.”

He tugged Jemma down for a quick kiss, wanting her to agree to his plan. It felt irresponsible, far more so than they’d ever been before, but honestly, with everything they’d gone through in their short time on the Bus, Fitz thought their bit of their escapism well deserved indeed.

“Wha’ d’ you say, Jem. Are we skivin’ off or no?”

It was exactly the response Jemma had been hoping for, and she smiled into Fitz’ kiss and dropped repetitive brushes of her lips against his in response to his question. She couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t make the corners of her lips lower despite the fact that she wanted and was desperately trying to kiss him.

A thought did manage to weave its way through her mind though and she leaned back so she could think clearly, Fitz’ nearness making her brain fuzzy in all the right ways.

“I can’t go traipsing around Paris in that dress. While I’m sure you’d appreciate it, my feet won’t if I’m forced to wear those heels. And I’d prefer to not show that much skin in public and the light of day.” Jemma blushed prettily at the thought of putting the lace dress back on now that she wasn’t under the influence, picturing herself walking around the streets Paris looking like a party girl in the morning sun. She shook her head.

“No, I’ll have to call concierge after I text Skye. And I have savings too, Leo. I saw that look in your eyes.” She gave him a look that says she wasn’t to be argued with as she moved from his lap and tried to find her phone, having no clue where it could be after last night. Jemma tried the bed first, leaning over the edge and tugging the covers back slightly but to no avail. It wasn’t there, and she wondered if she’d forgotten her clutch in their drunken haze leaving the bar last night. Turning back to Fitz to ask if he’d seen it, she smiled when she saw he was already holding it in his right hand, grinning at her as he finished the last of the bacon.

She sauntered her way over to him and tugged the small black purse from his fingers, lifting a brow at him.

“Cheeky.”  

Fitz couldn’t help the reflexive tilt of his head as he watched her bend over the bed, her movements causing the short hem of the robe to rise a few centimeters and exposing the creamy flesh of her upper thighs along with the barest hint of the swell of her arse. A few rather wicked ideas of how they could pass the time waiting for their laundry crossed his mind, though he wasn’t sure Jemma would appreciate having to take a second shower that morning. On the other hand, he  _ would  _ get to use it with her...

He shook off the thought with a grin and tried to focus on what was before him. As pleased as he was with the change in their relationship, Fitz wished it had been less alcohol-fueled; he'd always imagined he'd ask her out properly, dinner and maybe dancing before anything more physical occurred. It may not have happened in the so-called “proper” order, but the least he could do now was take her sightseeing, or whatever else she wanted to do, before dragging her back into bed.

He spotted her clutch sitting on the cart, and reached out to snag it, holding it up for her to see. Fitz didn’t even mind when Jemma accused him of being cheeky, since she allowed him to pull her down for one last kiss before she sauntered off to text Skye and get settled for the day.

He moved quickly after finishing his breakfast, calling the front desk and asking them for another night before requesting that someone come pick up their laundry. As much as he wanted to call the concierge and buy her clothes himself, Fitz resisted the urge to do so; he’d learned, in the long years of their partnership, that Jemma Simmons had an independent streak a mile wide and it was best to not interfere with it. Instead, he gathered their clothing, placing it in the cloth laundry bag he finds in the closet before handing it over to the bellhop who promised him that they’d be returned in one hour.

After that, there wasn’t  much else for Fitz to do, other than put on the second robe (he didn’t relish the thought of the personal shopper that had joined them getting a free show), sit atop the bed he’d hastily made, and flip through the TV stations until he found Sky News. Truth was, he didn’t absorb much of what was going on in the world; he was far too busy watching Jemma out of the corner of his eye as she whispered what she’d like to the hotel representative. Fitz was tempted to try to listen in, just to get some kind of a clue as to what she has planned for the day, but eventually gave up. Whatever Jemma had planned, he was sure he’d enjoy it.

Before long, Jemma was ushering the personal shopper out of the room before settling in next to him on the bed, her head on his shoulder as he watched the same report on austerity measures for the umpteenth time.

“So,” he began, glancing down at her, “wha’ d’ you have planned for us?”

Jemma beamed up at him, content and relaxed for the time being to rest her head against his shoulder as he watched the news. It was domestic and simple, the two of them just being together this way and she didn’t know if Fitz truly realized what this meant to her.

Fitz thrived on familiarity, on what he knew and could plan for. It was part of why he’d been reluctant to go into the field.  _ Too many variables _ , he’d said while Jemma had scowled at him and rolled her eyes. She’d known, of course, that once he got settled and adjusted he’d thrive, and they both had. It’d been a growing, albeit sometimes painful, experience for them both individually and as partners. Jemma didn’t need any further evidence of this, not with him next to her and her head on his shoulder as they shrugged off their responsibilities in favor of a day in Paris together.

Fitz had never have done this in the past. Hell, he’d have never taken her from that bar last night in the past. He’d both gained and lost something in the past year of this assignment, Jemma thought to herself as she felt the muscles of his shoulder beneath her cheek, the width of them wider now that he was older. She remembered when they’d been sixteen, stuck somewhere between children and adults with brains that could outsmart anyone; Fitz had been a bean pole then. 

They weren’t so young now, weren’t as cocky nor as green as they’d been. Experience had taught them a lot, made them realize just how they needed one another. It would have been easy to blame the alcohol, the barely-there dress, and the new tie he’d worn last night for their drunken actions, but neither one of them had. They’d chosen to let it be what it was, what it probably was all along, and what it would be in the future.

That was why Jemma wasn’t certain that Fitz fully realized just  _ what _ this meant to her.

She lifted her face from his shoulder and kissed his cheek, all tender affection and gentility. She felt loved. Spoiled, even.

“Well, the last time we were here we never made it to Musée de l'Orangerie, so I think I’d like to try to make it there today, if only just to see Les Nymphéas. Other than that, food is always a must. Maybe some shopping? I’m sure I owe Skye at least one small gift for the favor she’s doing me today.”

Fitz liked how she feels against him, soft and warm, her chin on his shoulder and her lips pressed to his cheek. He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together as the TV played on in the background and he mulled over her plans for the day. In an average relationship, this would not be a momentous occasion, but being able to do this, demonstrate physical affection without needing to worry about being reported or reprimanded or reminded of the rules against fraternization, felt positively monumental to Fitz. He’d never actually believed that they’d have this, despite wanting it, and it scared him a bit how attached he’d become to being able to touch her freely after fewer than 24 hours. It was dangerous and heady, and not even Director Fury could make him let go. Fitz felt a little tug of reality when his mind skirted across S.H.I.E.L.D.’s director, he and wondered if someday, and someday soon at that, they would have to make the decision to leave the organization entirely if they wanted to hold onto each other.

He pushed the thought away before it could tie his stomach in knots. He knew Jemma, knew them, and was certain that when it came down to it, they’d choose whatever was best for them both. There was no room for doubt; years of partnership would not allow for it, so Fitz returned his attention to the day ahead.

“Monet, hmm? Well, it’s only a ten minute walk t’ the museum, an’ by the time we’re ready t’ leave it should be warm enough for tha’.” He gave her fingers a little squeeze, glancing down at the top of her head before pressing a quick kiss into her chestnut waves. “And wha’ kind of shoppin’ did you wan’? We could head out the door and be a’ some of the best shops in Paris, or we could look a’ the flea markets. Tha’ migh’ actually be more Skye’s taste.”

He pressed yet another kiss to her temple and pulled back slightly so he could better see her face. Jemma seemed to be absolutely content, happy to be with him in the moment, and Fitz felt a slight swell of pride knowing that he’d played a part in putting that look on her face. Looking at her, Fitz finally understood what his uncles had told him ages ago: that he’d find someone one day whose happiness would trump everything else. She’d been important before, but he understood now what it meant to have her happiness trump everything else.

The thought made him grin, and he brushed her hair out of her face so he could better see the smile she was giving him in return.

“You make me incredibly happy, lass, you know tha’, righ’? And I’d do whatever I could t’ make you happy, too.” The words didn’t feel like enough, not by far, but they were the truth and he couldn’t stop them from slipping past his lips.

Jemma smiled at him, kissed the very edge of his nose playfully before pushing a stray curl back from his forehead. Fitz wasn’t the sentimental type, not one prone expressing his emotion, but had said more in the last twenty-four hours than she could ever remember in their entire friendship.

She knew what he was  _ really _ saying.

“You make me happy too.” She winked at him, sensing a little bit of seriousness slipping into the air between them and not willing to relinquish the feeling of ease from before. She glanced at the bedside clock; less than five minutes before the concierge was due to arrive with her requested clothing. Not enough time for what she actually wanted, but enough to take him by surprise.

She twisted her hips around and swung a leg over his lap, hair whipping around her face as she came to rest above him, smiling as she leaned down to kiss him. She’d indeed taken him by surprise, Jemma could tell, his hands still at his side and his lips not moving against hers as she tried to part his with her tongue. They’d be interrupted in a few moments but she’d take what she could get, and the ability to do this without asking or feeling like she was breaking rules was too tempting.

It took Fitz a moment to register what was happening, but his brain quickly caught up and his hands drifted to her waist, holding Jemma in place against him as she kissed him, her tongue darting into his mouth and making him think of the way she’d kissed him last night. The thought stirred him, and his hands moved to skim over the skin of her knees and up her thighs to tug at the belt of her robe, trying to get it open so he could put his hands on more of her. He was almost there, could feel the knot coming loose in his hands bit by bit, when they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

He jerked backwards, startled, and banged his head off the headboard in the process. Jemma let out a peal of laughter above him as she took in his condition, leaving Fitz to give her his best wounded look.

“It’s no’ funny, Jemma,” he told her, playing up the extent of his injury even as she slid from his lap and made her way to the door. “I think I’ll need you t’ come back an’ give it proper medical attention.” When it was clear she wasn’t coming back anytime soon, Fitz sighed and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, still watching her as she unlocked the door. Before it swung open though, Fitz managed to get off one last teasing comment. “See wha’ I do the nex’ time you’re in need then. An’ all I’ll tell you is t’ remember this momen’,” he chided her with a gentle smile.

It wasn’t the most creative nor the most mature, but she stuck her tongue out at him before opening the door and letting the concierge into the room. It was so strange to have someone bring her newly purchased clothes, for someone to do her shopping, but she wasn’t going to pretend it wasn’t nice… She’d much rather have the memory of Fitz’s face when his head had smacked the headboard than be forced to brave Parisian morning shoppers.

It took all of ten minutes to ensure the clothes were the correct size, that they’d brought Fitz the right clothing from the laundry, and she soon found herself shutting the door quietly, leaving the two of them alone again. Jemma arched a brow at Fitz , thinking for a brief moment that maybe staying in the hotel room might not be such a bad idea… But the morning sun illuminating the room was a soft reminder that they only had one more full day in Paris… She didn’t want to waste it in bed, as tempting as it was. They’d have all night to be in bed together, and that thought made her grin.

She tugged on the pale skirt and sweater, slipped on the flats she’d had delivered before moving to the mirror to check her hair. Her thick mane of curls wouldn’t do a single thing in its current state, so Jemma settled for running her fingers through it and calling it satisfactory. If Fitz were embarrassed to be seen with her, he’d just have to deal with it.

She turned and smiled at him, gesturing to herself.

“Okay?”

Eventually, once he realized that Jemma wouldn’t relent and come back to bed, Fitz made his way to the table where she’d left his clothing. He found his boxers, jeans, and button down and made quick work of pulling the items on. He was just doing up the laces on his shoes when he heard her voice and looked up.

She was beautiful and utterly alluring, although in an entirely different manner than last night’s Jemma. Whereas last night she had been sex personified, this morning she was the girl he’d secretly pined for at the Academy, well dressed but comfortable, her hair in loose waves. She stole his breath a bit, to be honest, and Fitz gave her a gentle smile as he approached where she stood in front of the mirror. Placing both hands on her hips, he pulled her close and kissed her gently.

“You look wonderful. I’ll be the envy of every man in Paris,” Fitz told her honestly before placing another kiss on her forehead. He kept one arm about her waist as he pulled back to lead her to the door. “Let’s see wha’ the Musée de l'Orangerie has t’ offer, shall we?”

With a hand on the small of her back, Fitz ushered Jemma out of their room and into the Parisian morning, eager to see what the day had in store. 


End file.
